


With Any Luck

by Ijustneededanewname



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Alternate Story, F/M, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Mentions of Racism, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of War, Past Abuse, Period Typical Attitudes, Violence, i dont know everything thats going on yet, isaac lives and arthur tries, john marston but baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25102255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ijustneededanewname/pseuds/Ijustneededanewname
Summary: John scoops up the bird feathers tenderly and peers at them in the dark. They're clean and fluffed, having belonged to a bluejay. One of them has a white streak down the center and he admires it in the dark, his eyes aching to take in the details before he hears horse hooves in the distance. He looks up in alarm, knowing that their camp was well-secluded and hidden from strangers. John holds the feathers against his chest and readies himself to run before he spots Arthur's horse in the brush, trotting and huffing angrily.Something's wrong. He can tell by the horse's attitude and the way that Arthur directs it through the leaves and sticks. John takes a step forward and the horse starts pulling against the reins, Arthur cursing the animal before he spots John."Johnny!" he wants to spit at the name, but he sees something in Arthur's arms. Small, cradled in his thick blue coat. Arthur's face is drawn in desperation and John sprints to the horse's side, taking hold of it's reins. "Get-get-get-get-"He's never heard Arthur stutter so hard. The older man's teeth are chattering and he's looking at the bundle in his arms with desperation.
Relationships: Annabelle/Dutch van der Linde, Bessie Matthews/Hosea Matthews
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75





	1. Newcomer

John's sitting on the outskirts of camp with a stick, hunched over his knees and drawing in the dirt. He's been with this gang for a few years now, going slow from some ratty eleven year old to a ratty teen instead. He has some fuzz on his chin that doesn't grow straight, and hair that sticks to his face in clumps. When someone tells him to bathe, he snaps at them, but Bessie gives him a stern look and he melts into obedience. He never explained why he didn't like water- why he couldn't bear the idea of being unable to see the bottom of a lake, or a pond, or a river. 

Hell, tubs scared him until Bessie convinced him he was brave enough to get in. She washed him like his mother never had, cleaned his hair with gentle hands and even put into one long braid down the middle of his back. He was maybe eleven when she finally convinced him to submerge himself. She held his hand and kept watch as John dunked himself in the waist-high water of a lake, coming up quickly in fear of being lost in the darkness. 

Bessie had held him, promising he was brave and courageous, but all he could do was watch Arthur and Hosea splashing each other near the island in the middle of the body of water. They had swam all the way out there, diving under and finding some coins at the bottom, and now they had their own utopia over there. 

He thinks of Bessie's kind love and the island in the lake as he draws. It's nothing special, just some marks in the dirt made with the sharp end of a stick, but it's big enough that Hosea starts to take notice. John wasn't sure what to make of him at first; he was quieter and smaller than the man that had first taken John in. There was some hesitance in the older man that John returned, unable to look in the man's brown eyes. 

But that man had taught him to read. John could write his own name now, too, and that was all thanks to the Matthews' couple. Dutch liked to take credit for it, and everyone else would laugh, but Bessie and Hosea had been responsible for most of it. 

They'd also been responsible for teaching him how to live off the land. Hosea and Arthur had taught him some tips on how to hunt, and Bessie had finished off the lessons on ways to skin, gut, and harvest animals. She taught him all about herbs and the great things that come from the earth, and he was strangely interested in it. He'd learned that Bessie's mother came from Indigenous tribes of the west, some great people she unfortunately had no involvement in. When he looked at her closely, he could see it. Tanned skin, hair lightened by her white father's blood, specks of brown in her eyes. She had once been part of her tribe, but when soldiers moved west in order to "civilize" it, that had been taken from her. 

John wondered what it would be like to lose people like she had. He never knew his ma, and he didn't want to know his pa. Bessie loved her family, her people, but everything she loved was taken away under such horrible circumstances. She'd said her father had taken her and dressed her in "civilized" clothes, tore the braid from her hair and took her to the city. Then they moved east and she adopted her white father's mannerisms, spoke English fluently and almost completely lost her maternal tongue. 

Sometimes he heard her speaking words from her language. When she danced with Hosea and laughed out certain terms, or cupped Arthur's face when she cleaned his cheek and joked with him. When John had clung to her back in the middle of the lake, unable to touch the sandy bed, she had cooed at him some gentle string of words that calmed him immeasurably. 

He draws the lake in the dirt and thinks of the beaded necklace Bessie had, of the bones she wore sometimes. Things she held on to in hopes of remembering, still loving her memories but unable to touch them like she could have. 

Hosea draws closer and John looks over his shoulder defensively, feeling small compared to the older man. He was six feet tall, and short compared to the others, so John was tiny compared to everyone else. He'd been eating well since they picked him up, but he hadn't grown. All he got was some muscle on his bones and greasier. 

"I should get you a journal, too." Hosea comments, setting his hands on his waist. "You could draw better with some pencils."

John huffs and looks away, pushing a little bug away from his canvas. "I ain't interested."

Boots scrape against the dirt and Hosea's shadow looms over John, taller under the setting sun. "Drawing can be calming."

"I'll leave it to Arthur." he grumbles and erases some of his drawing. "He's the artist."

Hosea chuckles gently and comes to crouch alongside John, making himself just as small. "Arthur wouldn't call himself an artist. He only keeps it as a hobby- have you seen many of his drawings?"

The teen shakes his head, curling his fist in the cloth of his shirt. Hosea seems to realize the discomfort radiating off of John and he stands carefully, leaving the young man alone with his stick drawing and thoughts. 

After several minutes of drawing circles, John looks over his shoulder and back at camp. Dutch is dancing with Annabelle, swaying her side to side as Hosea and Bessie sit curled around a book. Bill is cleaning his guns, occasionally reaching for the bottle of beer next to him and John curls his lip at the sight of it, wondering if he would be fast enough to snatch the bottle and run to safety. 

Amusement radiates in his chest and he turns back to his art, drawing a bottle with a fat body and skinny neck. It starts to look... phallic, and he laughs softly to himself and draws a few more for his own entertainment. The air gets colder and Susan drops a blanket around his shoulders, but John shrugs it off later and leaves it lying in the dirt. He doesn't notice how dark it's getting until he's squinting at the dirt in hopes of seeing anything, unable to see his drawings anymore. 

John stands and stretches his back out, taking his stick with him into the brush where he smacks at the trees and the bushes, pretending to fight the shadows around him. He wasn't a kid anymore, but he still had fun making up his own stories. Pretending to be as big as Arthur, fighting with a stick like a warrior from Bessie's stories. Sometimes, he acted like he was Dutch, smoking a big cigar and sauntering around in the dark. He puts the accent on, quietly though, so he can't be heard, and struts through the small clearing. He points his finger at the squirrels that run by and orders them to get to work, then points at a rock and names it Bill. 

"John?" he turns partially to face the sound of the voice, barely able to see the lantern light from this distance. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" he shouts in return. 

He sees Hosea nod his head. "Wander back soon, or I'll set Bessie on you."

The teen smiles to himself as he shouts yeah again, then starts to push the stick into the knot of a tree. Susan's singing starts to die down and John knows the rest of them are starting to get ready to go to bed, Bessie probably still curled up by the fire with a book, stroking Hosea's hair gently. 

John wonders where Arthur is as he continues prancing through the woods, keeping the camp in his line of sight. Maybe he was drinking with some fellas, sharing stories with them in the saloon. Or fighting somebody who earned a beating, defending someone else's honor. Or he was drawing in the quiet, still managing to look big even as he tenderly drew small animals he'd seen that day. 

Marston stops and squeezes the stick in his grip. Why couldn't he be Arthur? Everyone looked at Morgan like he was their prince, and all the ladies loved him. Big, tough, smart Arthur who could read, write and draw. A fighter who never lost a battle, a shootist who never missed his target. He got the attention of working girls and classy ladies alike, was even good at ranching when they'd gone straight for a while in order to lay low. 

The teen grumbles and throws his stick, watching it snap against the side of a tree. 

It didn't matter how much time Dutch put into him: John would never be Arthur. And he detested that. 

He saw how Arthur was the first time John came to camp. They almost tore each other's hair out the first few months, but after a while, they warmed up. Arthur started showing him some of his drawings and read him books. They shared a tent and Arthur was there to calm John after nightmares. Then John would wake up to the sound of Arthur quietly crying out for help in his dreams and he took his big brother's hand and calmed him down. That had been a sad night... first listening to Arthur begging his ma not to die, then hearing him beg his father not to beat him. 

They bonded over those things the next few days. How they lost their moms, how they dealt with their bastard dads. Arthur taught him how to say bastard. John loved calling Dutch bastard, too, and it made everyone laugh. 

Except Dutch. 

Dutch watched them like a hawk when the two boys started really getting along. Pulling pranks on Bill, doing lessons with Bessie in all sorts of degrees. Reading, writing, cooking, hunting. Dancing was his favorite, though he stepped on Bessie's toes so many times. They'd gone fishing once with Bill and he'd watched Arthur and Williamson rib each other until they were wrestling each other into the water. 

John finds himself calming down at the image of Bill's balding head being dunked in the creek and hunches over again, looking at a few feathers sitting on the ground. He touches them gently, running his fingers over the blue and grey feathers with care as he thinks about high mountaintops and holidays he's spent with the gang. 

Happy with the gang, too. 

He got presents for his birthday his first year with them and only Bessie and Annabelle were allowed to see him cry about it. Christmas came and though very few of them recognized it as Christ's birthday, there was still food and gifts, cheer and laughter. John tried understanding Hosea's religion, he even tried reading the papers that Hosea said came from the Pentateuch. But he didn't get it, and gave up after a few minutes of trying. 

Bessie had her own religion, or something of the sort. Something relating to earth that was passed down by generations. She explained it was difficult for her to remember it and that her praise always had to be done in secret. Hosea rarely joined her in her own festivities because he said it was "personal" to her. Something only she could do in order for it to be fulfilling. 

John scoops up the bird feathers tenderly and peers at them in the dark. They're clean and fluffed, having belonged to a bluejay. One of them has a white streak down the center and he admires it in the dark, his eyes aching to take in the details before he hears horse hooves in the distance. He looks up in alarm, knowing that their camp was well-secluded and hidden from strangers. John holds the feathers against his chest and readies himself to run before he spots Arthur's horse in the brush, trotting and huffing angrily. 

Something's wrong. He can tell by the horse's attitude and the way that Arthur directs it through the leaves and sticks. John takes a step forward and the horse starts pulling against the reins, Arthur cursing the animal before he spots John. 

"Johnny!" he wants to spit at the name, but he sees something in Arthur's arms. Small, cradled in his thick blue coat. Arthur's face is drawn in desperation and John sprints to the horse's side, taking hold of it's reins. "Get-get-get-get-"

He's never heard Arthur stutter so hard. The older man's teeth are chattering and he's looking at the bundle in his arms with desperation. 

John lets go of the horse and runs for the camp, shouting his way through the brush and bursting out the other side with leaves in his hair and feathers in his hand. He points in the direction he'd seen Arthur as Bill comes to his side, Bessie and Hosea abandoning their books to join them. 

"It-it's Arthur!" he says, distraught. Hosea rests his hands over John's shoulders briefly in a sign of comfort before the four of them start running away from camp, Bessie leading them to the horse. 

Arthur has climbed out of the saddle and is hurrying to camp with the bundle in his arms, sniffling and panting, begging Bessie once she gets close enough for him to recognize. He's talking too fast, stumbling over his words; he's panicking. He's holding the bundle with such tenderness and care, staring at Bessie with desperation. John watches as the older woman touches the bundle and says something, cupping Arthur's cheek before convincing him to pass the coat. 

John tucks himself behind Bill and watches curiously as Hosea shrugs his own jacket off and lays it over Arthur's broad form. It's too small to properly cover the big man, and Arthur barely recognizes it as Bessie takes the bundle towards the warmth of camp. 

"It's good you found him when you did." she promises as she passes John and Bill. "You might have saved him, Art."

There's a baby in Bessie's arms. A big one. 

Bill and John stare at it incredulously as Arthur hurries after Bessie, Hosea close behind. Marston scampers behind them and keeps hopping to try and see the kid again, Bill grabbing his suspender quickly and dragging him out of the way. Susan wraps her arms around John and holds him in place, cradling him warmly for her own sake. 

It's a tense few minutes when Bessie slips into she and Hosea's tent, setting the baby up inside. The flaps close and shadows start reflecting across the canvas, showing their forms doting on the child. He can see Hosea moving Arthur to sit down in the corner as Bessie reaches for medicine and food. The stove Dutch had in his big tent is quickly moved in order to warm the baby and Annabelle hurries to get wood to light it with. Susan lets go of John and for the next several minutes, the camp is filled with suspense and commotion. John starts retreating to get out of the way, watching the shadows in the tent as they move over the child, checking on the others when they move in and out of the tent. 

All John can do is stand on the sidelines with the feathers in his hands, watching and waiting as the rest get to work. Once Annabelle exits the tent again, she spots John and motions at him, the boy rushing over. 

"There's a stream not far from here." she points eastwards and hands him a bucket. "Go fill this up, will you?"

He slips the feathers into his pocket and nods quickly taking the bucket from Annabelle before turning to start running. John hops over boulders and logs, dodges low branches and slips between trees until he hears the stream. He hunches over it and lodges the bucket in the stream bed, gripping its handle as he waits for it to fill with fresh water. John keeps looking over his shoulder at the distant lights of camp, checking his surroundings at any sign of movement. Rabbits start to check on him and a few birds make noise above him, but it's just John, the stream, and the silhouettes of bats in the air. 

He wants to wait until the bucket is filled all the way; that was what Annabelle asked him to do. If he didn't get back with enough water, he wasn't sure what might happen. Punishment, and maybe it would effect the baby. John teeters on his toes and grips the handle of the bucket tighter, bouncing on his heels when the water doesn't rush in fast enough. 

John starts pacing, crossing his arms over his chest and walking around the stream for several minutes. He almost wants to panic, waiting for this godforsaken bucket to fill up, but soon its done. It's overflowing and John tugs it from the shore bed to carry it. He can't lift it very high, so he tucks his arms around its sides and half-jogs back to camp, spilling water over his shirt, in his face, sloshing through mud of his own creation. 

Hosea and Susan are beside the fire when John gets back. He's clutching the bucket in desperation which Bill takes from him without a word. Marston stumbles forward and watches as Bessie slips out of the tent, wiping her nose before smiling at John. 

"You got the water?" he nods and she places her hand on his shoulder, pulling him in for a hug briefly. 

She joins her husband by the fire and John realizes Hosea's jacket is still on Arthur. He can't properly see Morgan, but he sees his silhouette against the tent canvas. He looks to be hunched over the baby and John glances back at Hosea, remembering the blanket Susan had brought him earlier in the day. 

Marston plucks it from the dirt and brushes the pine needles off, crossing the camp and coming up behind Hosea. He knows Hosea is aware that he's there- the older man's shoulders are drawn and he has turned his head partially. John throws the blanket so it will go over Hosea and it's side drapes over the older man's head. A thin hand lifts to pull the cloth back, and Matthews is smiling softly. 

"Thanks, John." he says. Then he pats the spot next to him and adjusts the blanket so it could fit John, too.

The teen teeters briefly, checking to see if Bill is watching before he climbs over the log and curls up next to Hosea. The blanket comes around his shoulder and he revels in the warmth of the older man, watching the fire pop in front of him. 

=

John isn't alone when he wakes up in his tent. Arthur isn't there, but instead Hosea lays facing the wall, his arm tucked under his head and his legs stretched out towards the flaps. They'd given Arthur their more spacious tent for the night so he could care for the baby and John hadn't put up much of a fuss when Dutch donated Arthur's previous spot to them.

Of course the Matthews' had made sure it was alright by John before moving in. They snored quieter than Arthur, even though they whispered a lot. They whispered words he didn't understand and John had started to wonder if he had begun to lose his grasp of English. 

He pulls his blanket around his shoulders and slips out of the tent, going straight towards the spot he'd last seen Arthur. John peers at the tent flaps and slips his hand in, pulling them apart gently. He glances inside and sees Arthur sleeping in a chair, leaning forward against the cot. John can just make out the baby's hair before a hand touches his shoulder and startles him back. 

Instinctively he goes to strike, smacking Annabelle who lifts her hands. 

"Sorry." she says gently. "Arthur had a long night, best leave him."

John tightens the blanket around his shoulders and follows her to the chuck wagon, watching as Bill breaks a can open with his knife. Williamson passes the can over to John and grabs a spoon, tossing noisily over to the teen. Susan knocks him over the head as she passes, telling him to be mindful of the people that were still sleeping. 

"Forgot there was a kid..." Bill answers as he fixes his hat. 

"The baby?" John asks while digging into his breakfast.

"He ain't a baby." Bill grabs one of the apples and turns back around to John. "He's... how old is he?"

"He's four." Susan nurses her cup of coffee, pondering something as she stares into her drink. "Bessie hasn't told me what happened yet, but I thought I should tell you that I think the boy is staying with us."

The other two pause their actions, meeting each other's eyes briefly. 

"What makes you say that?" Williamson asks. 

Susan shrugs, suddenly stepping away. "Just a feeling." 

Bessie rides back from town an hour later with a bag of supplies. More food for the rest of them, and things easy for a little kid to eat and digest. The older woman organizes it by the wagon as Hosea wakes and drinks his coffee, never forgetting to give his wife a kiss on the cheek. 

She touches him softly as he passes, leaning in for an embrace. He does so happily, wrapping his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. John watches him wake up while nursing his coffee, he and Bessie sharing words of the same language from the night before. 

"Hey, Dutch?" he leans over to where the older man is sitting with Annabelle, helping her do her hair up with nimble fingers. "What are they saying?"

Dutch shakes his head as he slips a shining red brooch into his lady's hair. "I don't know French, son. You'd have to ask them."

His eyebrows furrow and his pushes his lip out. "French? Since when do they know French?"

Annabelle laughs softly and leans into Dutch's chest once he completes his task. "Bessie's dad was from France. I'm not sure about Hosea."

"That man is full of secrets." Dutch wraps his arms around Annabelle, kissing her cheek softly. "He might tell you if you asked, John. But you'd have to make sure it wasn't a lie."

John gets tired of the excessive loving in front of him and leaves his book behind to chase other things. Like Hosea, who's just exited his tent after checking on Arthur and who looks at John with a soft glint in his eyes. 

"How ya doing, John?" he asks as he slips his hat back on his head. 

He nods softly, peering around Hosea to glance at the tent. " 'm fine. You?"

Hosea nods as well, turning to look at the tent flaps that billow lightly in the breeze before he sticks a thumb towards the horses. "How about we go fishin', John? Go catch everybody dinner for tonight."

John's eyebrows turn downwards and he twists his face in confusion. He knows there must be something they're hiding from him, something about that baby. But he wasn't a baby! He could be told anything and help them if he needed to.

"What about Arthur?"

"He's alright." Hosea says it so convincingly that John can't help but relax some. "What do you say about fishing?"

He nods slowly and the older man goes to fetch them their poles, coming back with bait and an empty bucket for their catch. John follows him to the horses and climbs onto the back of his nag as Hosea hoists himself on Silver Dollar, speaking in low tones to his horse before they set out to go fishing. The ride from camp is quiet and John feels discomfort creeping up his spine at that. Hosea always liked to talk, whether or not he was speaking truth. As much as John usually begged for him to quiet down, to stop spinning some yarn, he wished he would now. 

The tension after last night and the fear in his heart still clutched his throat. Arthur was out of commission and there was a baby with them now. Well, not a baby. Susan had already said it was too old to be a baby and he'd have to remember that to avoid being ribbed by Bill for it. But there was a new, young addition nonetheless, and he wasn't sure if it was injured or if it was okay. 

They arrive at the side of a creek and Hosea untangles his spool before passing the bait to John. He motions to the shore and the teen moves to it in silence, perching himself on a rock while Hosea stands on the sand and lights a cigarette between his lips. He takes one puff and starts coughing, harshly hacking and accidentally spitting the cigarette into the water. John stoops and snatches it out of the water, mindful of its rushing rapids before he leans back and sets the cigarette on the rock. 

Hosea continues coughing hard enough that he has to set his rod aside and clear his throat, placing his hands on his knees. He hunches over, shoulders shaking and John drops his rod, hopping off his rock to go and help him. He isn't sure what to do, so he smack his hand between the other's shoulder blades. 

The older man smiles and clears his throat with a loud sound, wiping tears from his eyes that had gathered from his inability to breathe. He touches the base of his neck gently as he turns back to the water. 

"Did that wrong..."

John slowly takes his place back on his rock and sets his bait before tossing it to Hosea. He casts his line out and washes it splash against the sparkling surface of the water, curling his toes in his boots as Hosea coughs again. 

There were plenty of times he had almost lost the gang members. Gunfights, fist fights, racing on horses and crashing. Once a boat Susan and Annabelle were using capsized in rushing rapids and he'd screamed to get them help, but they'd come to the shore, sopping wet and managing to laugh about what happened. 

And Hosea had always been there. John might have been an asshole to him when they first met, but he was still kind. He was a good man who called himself a slither conman. John knew they were still criminals, but there was that code they lived by, fought by, and loved by. Hosea stuck to it with ferocity and John had been witness to his anger many times. Especially when either he or Arthur had gotten injured or hurt- times when Dutch had messed up in big ways and Hosea unleashed fifteen years worth of anger in moments. 

John appreciated the gentleness both Hosea and Bessie offered. They were aware of how they spoke and moved, of how they acted. Dutch was a calculating man, but sometimes he seemed to forget that both of his boys had been hurt by men that liked to act big. He'd flinched away from Dutch's movements many times even though Dutch meant him no harm, but he'd never had to around Hosea. Hosea sensed emotions easy and moved kindly, but not like he was around a startled animal. 

Susan could be kind, but most often she was busy ordering them about. He didn't know what she was like when she and Dutch were a pair, but he could only imagine the arguments that would come from it. Sometimes she tried acting like a princess even though they were constantly on the run and he couldn't blame her for it. She was beautiful and strong, and she was quick with a knife. Dutch got on her nerves more than he did Hosea and sometimes John could see her eyeing Annabelle with suspicion. 

Annabelle landed as an odd in-between. As a woman with a Chinese mother and Irish father, life hadn't been entirely kind to her. She didn't know abuse like John and Arthur did, but she knew the scavenging lifestyle. The wishing and hoping, the praying that one place wouldn't turn her away. Hoping for the next meal, sometimes having to fight for that hope. She could be as sour as Susan, but as kind as Bessie. Most times she chose the easy neutral ground as not to anger anyone from either side. 

Bill was... Bill. Angry. Brash. When he tried kindness, he often reacted defensively to cover himself. It had been a long while before John felt safe enough to stick around Bill, even longer before he tried carrying conversations with him. Bill was trying to learn and everyone else was trying to teach, but it felt like one big fight with him. 

"You usually talk a lot more." John blurts to Hosea. 

The older man wheezes out a laugh as the end of his rod starts to wiggle. "I thought you don't like me talking?"

He'd been honest a few times about the level of noise Hosea could produce. 

"No. I don't like it. I mean-" he grips the rod in anger. "-I mean I do, but... it's a lot sometimes."

"I understand. What would you like to talk about?"

John thinks for a few minutes, deciding as he feels a tug on his line. "Talk about Bessie."

Hosea breathes in and Marston senses that he may have made a good choice with that one. 

"Alright..." the older man inspects his small fish before tossing it back in the water, reaching for the bait. "She and I met in Texas when we were young. She'd been running with her dad for a few years by then- he'd managed to stick some roots in Oregon and she'd told him she was off to find a new future for herself. I was looking for people to rob when I was in Texas, avoiding soldiers and their forts. It wasn't long after I had left my own service-"

"You were in the war?" John asks in bewilderment, forgetting to reel his fish in. Hosea nods, an amused expression on his face as he casts his line back out. "I don't believe you."

"I wouldn't lie about that, John." he says with honesty. "I don't think I've even told Dutch this."

John keeps reeling his fish in and looks back over the water. "Why not?"

"Some things you just keep secret, I suppose. He gets a sad look in his eye when you mention the war... he turns into a kid that only recently lost his dad to battle."


	2. The Remnants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea talks about his past. Some gang members go to try and piece together what had happened.

Hosea looks at the teen as John turns his attention back to the water and wonders how different things would have been if he had been an actor. 

"Keep goin'." John mutters. 

He adjusts his hands around his rod and continues:

"I met her at a wedding I had snuck into. I was trying to find food and money, enough to keep me going west for a while. She caught me and I suppose she saw I was starving because she fed me and gave me water. She offered space in the apartment she was renting and I slept there a few nights before promising to get out of her hair. But... she told me to stay. We sat and talked for hours while I ate and regained my health. I started sleeping better when she was 'round and began to realize she kept the bad dreams away. 

I thought I was good at reading people but with her, I couldn't tell if I was being hopeful or if I was right. So I went out and bought some flowers for her and waited until she was out of work to offer them to her. She thought I was sweet and decided to join me for dinner out at a restaurant. Instead of ever getting to the meal we found ourselves swindling some robbers and that wildness appealed to her in some way. When the robbers came for revenge, she was the one to save my life instead of the other way around. 

She got shot in her hip while we were running and I carried her to the doctor's office in the dead of night. I left her with the doctor so she could have her surgery and I realized I couldn't show her my face ever again. I held the guilt for her near-death with me and I thought she'd never be able to walk again because of it. But she woke up after her surgery and called for me, and the doctor hired a street kid to come get me so Bessie would stop babbling under the medicine she was given. 

Her confession came by accident and I decided to stay with her. When she was able to keep her eyes open without the aid of medicine, I told her my truth; I loved her. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her but my life was rough and mean. There were few gentle beds to sleep in or kindness to be found in the kind of life we live. Bessie had smiled and offered a spoon of her soup to me, telling me she knew what I was and that I should be more scared of her than anything aiming to shoot me.

We got married a while after she started walking again. I still had guilt, but she promised me that she knew what she wanted. She wasn't some damsel that fell in love with an outlaw because of a head injury- she was her own person who recognized kindness in me. We left Texas with rings and started travelling the west- I met her father and stepmother as well as her half-siblings. And for the next several years, she kept curating the kindness and love in my heart and made me a better person. She's said I've done the same thing unto her."

John's quiet for a few minutes after Hosea finishes, the two of them listening to the creek until the kid blurts his words out again:

"Why didn't you have any kids?"

They never shied away from the subject, but he and Bessie never really spoke on it. 

"We did. Once. We'd been trying for a few years while I tried settling down but they never developed long enough. We had a daughter, but she was born early." Hosea scratches his nose, thinking of his daughter's thick head of hair colored like her mother's and the brown eyes of her father. "She was... very small. It was pure luck she made it as long as she did, especially with the life we live. It was about autumn when we started to notice she was getting sick more frequently and eventually she passed on in her sleep. A kind passing for a sweet little thing."

Her smile was bright and she had the laugh that sounded as sweet as honey. She hadn't been temperamental for the few months they knew her, and was an angel. The bitterness he felt after she had passed on was something he couldn't quite forgive the world for- the effect it had on he and Bessie had changed them and he thought it was remarkable she stayed with him. 

"Can I ask what her name was?" John asks softly. 

Hosea blinks at the shimmering water and finds himself smiling. " _Magnolia_."

John nods in his peripheral vision and Hosea reels in his next fish, a big one that thrashes around in anger until Hosea kills it and drops it in the bucket. Talking about his daughter had taken some energy out of him, so he sets his rod aside and seats himself on the shore of the creek. The teen says nothing more for the next half hour and Hosea is grateful; he listens to the wind blowing through the leaves and takes a deep breath of the cool air blowing around them. He starts to hear drumming in the backs of his ears and he shuts his eyes to try and focus on the noises around him. But the drumming continues, the sound of the drummer boy following them on to the battlefield, the sound of cannons and guns firing, the sound of the gatling's tearing the ground to shreds. 

He curls his fingers into the sand and steels himself against the shore to focus on other things. Of Arthur running into camp with that bundle in his arms and fear in his eyes, of Bessie gently taking that child from him in hopes of treating it, of the look of relief on his boy's face when she told him that the kid would live. 

"I was too young to join the war." Hosea says as he opens his eyes. "I was sixteen and my schoolhouse had just been demolished and my parents weren't able to afford to feed me so I skipped out and joined the service. I learned to lie at an early age and found my way into a uniform."

John brings two fish over to the bucket and sets them inside gently, crouching next to Hosea. He sets his rod down and watches the rocks covered by his shadow. 

"Did you ever see your parents again?"

Hosea nods. "I went back after I married Bessie. I hadn't intended on staying away so long, but I kept getting caught up in shit. It was... sweet. Watching my mom meet my wife, hugging my family and watching Bessie being brought in like she was their own daughter. It was nice, even if that cabin is cold."

John looks up with a small smile, hair plastered across the side of his face. The grease from is hair had been infecting his pores and causing little yellow and red spots to pop up on his face, but the teen hardly cared. Hosea could feel the teen inside of him wanting to treat it but he wipes his hands on his pants and hooks his fingers over his boots. 

"You're from New York, right?" he nods again. "You ever plan on goin' back?"

"Maybe. We're close to the New York border, but it'd be quite a trip still. Those mountains at this time are unforgiving."

The teen hums and picks up a blue rock. "You ever introduce them to Dutch? Or Arthur?"

"They met Arthur a few years ago, a few months before we found you, but no. They know I run with Dutch but I've never intended on introducing them to him. Not out of spite, simply because I know my mother wouldn't be able to stand him."

John snorts and lifts his arm to cast his rock into the creek. Hosea watches it splash and leans back on his elbow. 

"What they think of Arthur?"

"They like him. Don't tell him I told you this, but he melts around them like they're his grandparents. My mom makes some good home made cookies. You'd enjoy them."

The teen smiles softly to himself and reaches to pick up another rock. "Planning on fattening me up to eat me?"

Hosea lets out a loud laugh and John tosses this rock in too. "It'd be a job and a half to fatten you up, kid. I've seen you eaten several servings of food and not gain a pound."

John laughs to himself and nudges Hosea so the older man falls flat on his back before he stands. "I'm growing!"

"I sure hope so." John plants his boot in Hosea's stomach and the older man grunts, laughing as he grabs John's ankle and wrestles with it. Marston's boot is tugged off and Hosea stands with it, moving like he's going to toss it into the creek. Instead he hands it back at the last moment and nudges John. "Let's get back to camp and check on Arthur."

He slips his foot back in and picks up the fishing rods. 

"Where'd he get the baby?" he asks. 

The older man pauses and picks up the bucket of fish. "You must remember Isaac."

The little boy hadn't been born long after John was brought into the gang. Between a little brother and a new baby, Arthur'd had a lot on his plate those few months. It was mostly why he was so angry at John for so long, always arguing when his sleep got interrupted or snapping at Dutch. He'd viewed John as his replacement and beyond that, he was struggling with the idea of being a father. Arthur had brought Eliza and Isaac to camp a few times, but the first time was the most eventful. 

Stress had kept mounting for them all and they'd settled on trying to clean up their camp, on trying to dress nicely to greet Eliza and the new baby. Arthur had carefully brought them in, dressed in his own best clothes, and introduced Eliza. Susan and Eliza had gotten along like old friends, but the girl wasn't too trusting about handing off her baby to just anyone. John had been new and young, staring at the baby in confusion and partial fear while Eliza was made comfortable. An old chair with rotting cushions they had covered with a new blanket. Another blanket laid over her and an extra to bundle the child in if it was cold. 

And a little boy with dark skin like his mother stared at them with the most innocent look he'd ever seen. It rivaled Magnolia in some ways, the sweetness and tenderness. When Eliza decided she trusted them enough, she first handed Isaac to Hosea. 

" _Because Arthur talks a lot about you_." she had said. 

The instinct came back and he stared down at the little boy with so much love and care. He felt his heart burst and knew his eyes must be watering, but he paid it no mind. Isaac had deep brown eyes with a few specks of his father's blue. He was a gorgeous baby with a toothless smile and Hosea found himself loving that boy with everything in him.

Bill hadn't trusted himself with the baby, and Dutch got the least amount of turns holding Isaac. Josiah had caught wind and of course had come to see the child himself. Eliza let him hold the baby too, and Josiah held him with such care that Hosea suspected he had done that kind of thing before. 

"Oh, yeah..." John scratches at the thin hairs on his chin and nods. "I remember Isaac. But, why's he here? With us?"

Hosea runs his fingers across Silver Dollar's neck. "I'll let Arthur tell you when he's ready."

John climbs onto the back of his nag and waits for Hosea to lead. "Are you all hiding something from me? I'm not a kid. I can take it if its bad."

"I know, John. And no, I'm not hiding anything from you. But you _must_ be patient with him. Eliza is dead."

"Dead?" John kicks his horse so he sidles up alongside Hosea. "How?"

"I don't know. He hasn't told me or Bessie anything more. He's busy worrying about his son right now, trying to make sure Isaac lives. Arthur didn't get any sleep last night and I'm not sure he'll be sleeping for a while yet. Try to-try to be nice to him, hm?"

"Sure, I can be nice." the teen looks at the trail ahead of him, bucket of fish hanging from his saddle. "I... should I do something for him?"

"That's up to you. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. He almost lost Isaac, so maybe do something that could include a little kid, too."

"Like what?"

All he knew was violence.

"Make some food! Or write, draw- use your brain for a while and see if you can't come up with something."

"I don't know what little kids like..." he grumbles. 

"It's easy work, John. Be creative. Isaac doesn't have a mean bone in that little body."

He _was_ little. Watching Arthur's pleading face, then looking down at cold and unconscious Isaac still hurt. It might sting for a while longer depending on how the boy healed from his injuries, but Hosea had hope. Better hope than with Magnolia, a piece of he and Bessie's past that they rarely spoke on. Arthur had cuddled the child all night in hopes of warming him to proper temperature, holding his son until he fell asleep. It wasn't until early morning when Hosea checked on them did Arthur stir. 

Isaac had some color back to his face and it seemed the bleeding from his wounds had slowed. He had still been asleep, but he was warm, and Arthur was shifting away from his son to sit in the chair beside it so Hosea could check the boy's temperature. 

"You know, Bessie and I left the outlaw life for a while." he says as they ride back to camp. "Arthur was still young then, and he hardly remembers it. We had found a little place to shack up, a nice area with kind people. I even got a proper job for a while and Bessie found her own work. We had healed from Magnolia and decided we wanted to try again, but nothing came of it. Beyond worrying about Arthur, we found we couldn't have kids again, and we miserably found our way back to Dutch. I suppose in the long run we came to find Arthur was our son."

John is quiet for a few moments. "Did you ever heal from losing Magnolia?"

"It takes time to do so, but yes. I think about her often and imagine her if she was alive today. But I don't enjoy dwelling in the past, nor do I enjoy suffering for the sake of the pain. I have you, and Arthur, and you two are enough for me."

"I'm sorry for bein' so blunt, Hosea. I-I hadn't meant to bring up bad memories."

"It's alright. Talking about her is refreshing."

They find their way back to camp where John hovers around Hosea, suddenly taking his hand and giving it an awkward shake before carrying the bucket of fish to the chuckwagon. Hosea smiles softly before approaching the tent Arthur and Isaac had been occupying, asking for permission to come in. 

Arthur grants it and the older man closes the flaps behind himself, looking over at the little boy. Isaac is sweaty and muttering in his sleep, evidently feverish. 

"He's sick." Arthur grumbles. Bessie slips back into the tent and leaves a kiss on Hosea's cheek before she beings making a concoction for the boy. "He's got a fever, and he's having nightmares. He's suffering."

"This will help him." Bessie has brought the mortar and pestle from the chuckwagon and is crushing herbs together within it. "At the very least, it will ease any pain he may still be having."

Hosea holds Arthur's hand and watches in silence as Bessie mixes the herbs into dust, then waters it down so it could be swallowed. She tilts Isaac's head and gently pours the concoction past his lips, waiting a few seconds before she does it again. Arthur squeezes Hosea's hand as she does so and wrings his other hand in his bandana, watching as Bessie pushes the cork back into the bottle and sets it aside. 

"Wait a little while before giving him anymore. If you think he's in a great deal of pain, give him a bigger dose." Bessie takes Arthur's other hand and pats his knuckles softly. "When he's better, we'll go into town and buy him new clothes."

Arthur nods in silence and slowly loosens his grip around their hands before bringing his fingers into his eyes, rubbing them as he slumps over his knees. Hosea kneels alongside him and wraps his arms around his son, feeling Bessie doing just the same. They rest as a heap in the tent as Arthur's shoulders start shaking with his sadness, his tears finally coming loose after a day and a half of stricken silence. 

Hosea grips Arthur with one hand and holds his wife with the other. He rests his face against Arthur's shoulder and shuts his eyes as he feels Bessie's palm slide over his arm to console Arthur, her gentle touch as much of a fix to the younger man as it was to the conman. 

"I gotta-" he takes in a ragged, loud breath. "-I gotta go back to Eliza. I need to bury her."

"Stay with your son." Hosea whispers. "I'll get it organized for you."

Arthur opens his mouth to argue but presses his lips together and nods harshly, scrubbing his hands down his face. Hosea presses a kiss to his son's hair and rubs his hand over his back before slipping out of the tent, hearing Arthur let out a sob as he steps away. 

=

He follows directions to Eliza's home with Annabelle, Susan, and John. Bill and Dutch stayed behind to stay on guard while Bessie and Arthur remained with Isaac while he recuperated. Hosea brought the girls with him to help, and John because something in him told him it'd be right. 

To give Arthur space, maybe. Or because John had a good eye for things. 

Hosea pulls Silver Dollar out of the way of the trail and approaches the front of the home carefully. There's a hole in the wooden foundation big enough for a small boy to fit in and Hosea kneels beside it, glancing in to see a small pool of blood and a dead rattlesnake behind that. Isaac must have killed it while hiding from the men that raided the house, curled up in the cold dark with nothing more than his pajamas on. 

He swallows the growing anger and follows the stairs up the house, finding the green door open a crack. Hosea asks Annabelle to keep watch before pushing the door open, John and Susan at his back. There's light filtering in from the window above the sink, enough to show Eliza's stiff hand. As the door opens further, more light pours in and Hosea slowly rounds the table to find the girl on the floor. She lays with her arms spread on either side, laying on bits of trash and debris that had been thrown around during the raid. There's blood covering her stomach and a wound coming from her forehead, but there's peace on her face. 

Something resembling... joy, almost. Like her last moments were filled with something good, something that was enough to calm her before she let go and left this world for whatever awaited her on the other side. 

Hosea kneels beside her and reaches out to gently shut her eyelids. He presses his knuckles against his lips and lets a long sigh out from his nose, hot breath blowing over his skin and fine blond hairs dusting his fingers. A shining pistol is holstered and Susan starts to cover Eliza with a blanket, remaining on her knees in front of the girl as she fully covers the body and moves Eliza's arms so they're closer to her sides. 

John is watching over Hosea's shoulder. He stares in silence with wide eyes, dry lips pressed together as his dark grey gaze snaps to the older man. Hosea signs for the teen to search the house and John's throat bobs before he pries himself away and starts searching the house. They look for clothes having belonged to Isaac, and items that would remind him of his mother. Hosea finds a teddy bear with one plaid arm and recognizes the cloth from having been from the scarf Arthur had "lost" a few years ago. Despite the body laying on the floor a few feet away, Hosea smiles softly and tucks the bear in his jacket, moving to check on John. The teen is gingerly gathering small articles of clothing and folding them over his arm, collecting tiny shoes afterwards. Most of the clothing is patched or torn, sewn with odd colored string and kept together by bits. Hosea knew Arthur was coming to visit not only to see his son, but to give Eliza money to buy new things for their home. 

"Hosea!" Annabelle shouts from outside. 

John grabs for his gun as the older man steps out onto the porch, squinting at a group of townspeople that are blocking the only exit out. 

"Can I help you folks?" he asks, arm tensing in case he needed to draw. 

"We were thinking we could help you." A tall man with blond hair at the front says. "Since you're searching that girl's house."

Hosea descends the steps and gestures to the hole in the foundation. "My son, Arthur, came around here a few days ago to visit his wife and child. You might have seen him- big, dirty blond with blue eyes."

The man who spoke nods slightly, his shoulders relaxing. "You're his pa? Well, I'm sorry for having lost my manners, sir," he steps forth and offers his hand. "I'm Tom."

Hosea takes it gently and shakes. "Hosea. Arthur's brother and I were only trying to collect some of Isaac's belongings. Eliza, she's been shot."

"Christ..." Tom runs his hand over his face. "We hadn't seen her for a day, but thought nothin' of it. I'm real sorry about your loss, sir. Your daughter-in-law was a good woman."

The older man nods gently, touching the teddy bear still hidden in his coat. "Maybe you could help my friends and I with Eliza? We'd need to make her a casket and bury her. Rigor mortis has already set in and I don't want to leave her on that floor any longer."

"Of course! Where's Isaac?"

"With Arthur." Hosea starts to turn back to the cabin with Tom on his heels. "He was hurt pretty bad by those men."

"Men who hurt a child are no men at all. Will he make it?"

"He has a fever, but I hope he will. Arthur and his mother are with Isaac now. "

Tom follows him up the steps with Annabelle. "What about the boy?"

"Arthur hasn't told me the full story yet. He's occupied with Isaac."

The younger man nods, blue eyes flicking between Susan and John before he comes to the edge of the blanket. "Well, we'll get her to the undertaker and make sure she's taken care of. We won't go ahead with the funeral 'til Arthur's at least able to join."

Hosea shakes his hand again. "Thank you, Tom."

The young man and another civilian from the town help move Eliza out of the cabin and into the back of a wagon. Hosea watches from the edge of the property as it rumbles towards town and out of sight, sighing to himself once most of the civilians were gone. Susan touches his hand briefly in consolidation and Hosea turns away from the fence, instead going to search the property around the cabin. He believed that there could still be tracks from the men that hurt Eliza and took Isaac, so he searches for strange boot and horse prints, finding specks of dark blood on the ground. 

Blood belonging to Isaac that lead away from the property and down the road, going through a trailhead and the spot of rocks where the stream began. Hosea bundles the teddy bear tighter in his jacket as he follows the trail from the main center of road, tightening his grip around Silver Dollar's reigns as they move deeper into brush and further from the chance of prying eyes. He soon hears crows in the distance, squawking. Shouting at one another and fighting. He leaves the bear on the saddle and takes his repeater with him, pushing the branches apart to find a bloody mess ahead of him. 

The first thing he spots is the tent spotted with blood. Past it, a dead fire and a corpse next to that. There's a jagged cut across the corpse's cheek, and the body has a missing finger. It's mouth is drawn in a shout and Hosea notices most of the teeth are missing, lying in the back of the throat. A shotgun blast has taken the face of the next man, and the waist down is charred from having caught fire. There's blood on their hands and money ripped around them, a bale of cash stuffed in a third man's mouth. A gaping hole sits in his chest as he slumps against the tree, numbly staring at the bodies of his friends.

Hosea continues following the blood trail from the camp and finds a tree with rope around it. There are knicks in the bark barely higher than Isaac was tall, and a few more pools of blood surrounding it. The older man kneels next to it and presses his fingers against the marks in the tree, wondering what exactly those men did to the small boy. 

Whatever it was, Arthur avenged him. 

Mangled and defiled was what these criminals deserved. 

Hosea stomps out of the trees and glares at the bodies on the ground before growling for John to get back on his horse, climbing on Silver Dollar and riding back to the road. 


	3. Delegation

Isaac still slept on, but Hosea had said his fever had broken. The relief that washed over Arthur at that news almost had him passing out, but he was trying to stay strong. His son was safe, and bundled in blankets belonging to his family with his teddy bear tucked in next to him. Bessie treated his wounds while he slept and had Arthur re-apply the dressings. Most of his right arm was mummified, but with the salve Hosea had come up with under Bessie's supervision, they were sure the scars would be difficult to see. 

There was one cut on his son's face that had been caused by the door being kicked in. It knocked wooden shrapnel over the floor and across his ear, leaving it bandaged. It had been a nasty cut when Arthur had first found him- all of him had been shivering in the cold and his eyes had been glossed over as the young father bundled him in that big blue jacket. 

Now that jacket laid over the top layer of blankets and Isaac smacked his lips in his sleep. Arthur had barely left his side since bringing his boy to camp, and Bessie had to lure him out in order to get him to bathe. But there was not one moment Isaac was left alone; either Hosea or Bessie took turns watching him while Dutch planned quick jobs for a few extra dollars in order to supply for the child. Annabelle was usually the one committing to these jobs, using conning advice from Hosea while Bill went out for days at a time for robberies long distances away. None of them risked bringing Isaac into it. Not yet. John kept hunting with his pea shooter and fishing with his broken rod in order to scrape extra cents in to at least pay the undertaker back at the town. All of it was a group effort to give Isaac comfort when he did wake up, to hopefully ease the pain he would experience when he found out his mama wasn't coming back. 

Arthur reaches over to his son and hesitates. Laying there with his curly hair, tiny hand instinctively grabbing for his bear, Isaac was so innocent. And Arthur was so... devilish, he supposed. Eliza had said it herself: she refused to let their son grow up in the outlaw's life. He was to have the best chances afforded to him, and that wouldn't be easy for a mixed race boy. She'd told him stories, and Arthur knew it from Bessie's memories too: being indigenous was like having a target on your back, and being black added to that. Eliza had been both, and Isaac shared her darker skin and curled hair. Having specks of his white father's genes wouldn't be enough to protect him from the monstrosity that was white supremacy. 

Annabelle had recounted her own experiences a few times. Watching her Chinese relatives being attacked for speaking in a different language, for writing different characters and coming from a different land. And Bessie's stories of watching girls being taken away by soldiers, of the schools who's mottos were to "Kill the Indian, Save the Man". 

Eliza had talked once of taking Isaac away from all this civilization in order to settle him in with a tribe. Try to give him what she didn't have growing up; that community. Centuries of tradition and love, of life that had been lived before settlers and colonial states arrived. 

Arthur takes the edge of the blanket and tucks it under his son's shoulder in a gentle manner, admiring his peaceful expression for a few moments before he finds the strength to stand. He exits the tent in search of Bessie, or Hosea, glancing at Dutch in the corner of his eye as the bigger man reads excerpts of his book to John. The teen raises his head at the sight of Arthur and sends a concerned look his way. Arthur lifts his hand to the younger man to wave and even manages a small smile before moving in the direction of Hosea's working form. 

The old man is sharpening the axe with a strop when he looks up from his work, glancing over Arthur as his lips turn upwards. 

"Good morning, Arthur. How's Isaac?"

"Better," he runs his hand over his sleeve. "Is Bessie here?"

"She's in town with Annabelle. They're taking a dress for Eliza to wear. She won't be long."

Arthur shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. "I was just hopin' to leave Isaac with someone he knew, was all. Just in case he decides to wake up."

"Ah," Hosea sets the axe against the rock and stands. "He hasn't seen a lot of John, but he knows Dutch. Like's playing with all of Dutch's things, remember?"

As a baby until the last time he visited with Eliza, Isaac had always found something to play with. The chain around Dutch's neck when he was a baby, then the rings on his fingers when he was a toddler. The last few visits, it had been the extra pair of spurs Dutch had that he tried fitting on his shoes. 

Arthur chuckles gently and nods at the image of baby Isaac grabbing Dutch by the hair on his jaw and dragging him down. "You think Dutch would be alright with babysitting?"

"I'll make sure he is. Go tell him and I'll saddle up your horse for you."

Outright ordering Dutch to do something instead of kindly requesting always struck fear in Arthur. He was their leader, big and smart. He'd toppled men like they weighed nothing and Arthur had seen him get into a couple fist fights in the early years. Rarely did those guys make it out alive, or with the same amount of brain power as before. But rounding the corner to find him laughing heartily with John calms Arthur's nerves and he wipes his hands across his shirt as Dutch looks up. 

"Come have a seat, son." the gang leader taps the barrel with the side of his boot and Arthur shakes his head. 

"I'm steppin' out of camp with Hosea for a short while. I was hopin' you and John could keep an eye on Isaac? Only until one of the other's arrives back."

Dutch nods his head and starts to stand from the table, John looking up at him like he's their king. "Sure. Take as much time as you need."

"Thank you," it comes out as a whisper and Dutch comes to his side, wrapping his arm around Arthur's shoulders and dragging him into his ribs. They walk together to the edge of the camp and Dutch wraps his other arm around him, squeezing him for a few moments. 

"Whatever you need, Arthur. I'll protect that boy with my life."

Arthur pats Dutch's back in return and the two separate, Hosea having just finished tightening the straps of the saddle when the young outlaw turns away. He climbs onto his horse quietly and looks back at the camp, spotting Dutch hesitantly peeking his head inside the tent to check on Isaac. Thinking of Dutch van der Linde being afraid of a little kid amuses Arthur as he follows Hosea through the bushes and away from camp. There were a few landmarks to remember their way by; the initials carved in one of the trees, a tree having been shucked of its bark, and a pile of sticks near the road. Hosea follows all of these east of camp and takes them towards the rolling hills ahead of them where trees dotted the landscape. Blue skies sat above them and the wind blew chilly air across their faces. 

He starts thinking of Isaac having to run from his home in his pajamas, given nothing to cover himself by men who wanted money and decided to ransom a kid for more of it. The fear that Isaac must have felt when the door caved in and his mother turned to reach for the gun, probably shouting for him to run. 

Hosea brings them to a small pond in a secluded part of the woods and Arthur drops out of the saddle in exhaustion. His legs feel heavy and his eyes hurt, muscles sore. Something growls as he kneels next to the pond and he realizes its his stomach asking for some food, but he can't feel the pain of hunger in his guts. Arthur wets his face with the cool water and takes in a deep breath as Hosea moves behind him, no doubt puling food out of his satchel and coming to his side. Dried fruit touches Arthur's shoulder and the younger man takes it gently with thanks, Hosea seating himself on the shore of the pond alongside the bigger outlaw. Arthur rips the dried apple to shreds and scarfs it down like he hadn't eaten in days. He realizes that he hadn't- not since Bessie sat by his side and watched him push some meat and potatoes around on one of their dented plates. But Hosea's got more food; a jar of fish bits, some veggies he'd roasted the night before, and bread. 

This comfortable silence eases Arthur into a relaxed state. Neither of them trying to fill the quiet air with any conversation and it continues to calm him. Hosea watches him from beneath the brim of his hat with concern and pity, but the older man wouldn't outright admit to doing so. He keeps glancing away, watching the ripples in the pond caused by frogs and Arthur offers some crumbs of bread to the edge of the water. Matthews scratches at the stubble growing above his lip as Arthur stretches and passes the bread back to the conman. 

Hosea takes it gently. "You don't want any more?"

"I'll let this bit settle in my stomach first." he says, removing his hat and laying it over his knee. There's a lot more he wants to discuss, things he needs to get off of his shoulders because he wants to explain himself. But fear at being the primary caregiver of Isaac fills his mind and his heart and he finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose, slumping over his legs and sighing loudly. A warm hand touches the square of his back and Hosea leans into him, pressing himself against his side and laying his chin on Arthur's shoulder. 

The thing about Hosea was, a lot of the time, he didn't need to speak in order to convince someone to confess to him. Arthur thinks he would have made a good priest if he was catholic, then drags air into his lungs and eases himself to sit up, forcing strength in his muscles to hold up his head. 

"Bessie and Annabelle-" he wipes some droplets of water from his jaw. "-they're in town, right?"

"Yes." Hosea slides his hand higher up Arthur's back and watches him in the bleak light. "They got her measurements and took her a dress."

"They'll bury her soon?" the older man nods. "I bet that town wants to know where the hell I've been."

"It isn't much of their business if Eliza never told them. The good ones won't ask too many questions- they know you're a man in mourning, even if you never were married to the girl. They know that Isaac is recuperating and the only hell they'll give you is advice on how to raise a boy alone."

Alone. Raising a child. 

Arthur drops his head in his hands and Hosea curls his fingers into his back. The older man begins kneading at Arthur's tired muscles in a way of comforting, quiet consolidation in the form of loving touch from a fatherly figure. Truth be told, Arthur wasn't sure the kind of man he'd be if he never met Hosea. Or Dutch. Dutch found him on the street and gave him food, and Hosea was surprised to find a kid, but he and Bessie both agreed to help give Arthur a good life. There were a few years where he lived as a semi-normal boy; he had lessons in camp, he learned how to survive and was given meals. He had clothing on his back and shoes on his feet. Arthur could bathe when he wanted and started to smile and loosen up. But with it came the hunting. Hunting for men, hunting for money and power. Using his fists to beat answers out of people or beat them into silence. A flashy golden gun on his hip was the last thing lots of people saw before a bullet went through their skulls. 

Mary left him for that reason. She looked at Arthur down on one knee and gently pushed the ring away, turning her back on him and stifling her tears as she went back to her miserable father and her little brother. When Arthur got drunk to drown his sadness, he slept with the waitress that shared a few drinks with him. He couldn't remember much of that night with Eliza, just that her touch was sweet and her kisses felt like some kind of sanctuary. All they had the next day were headaches and hangovers, so there were few words shared between them. She'd found him a few weeks later, her face pulled into a hard expression as she interrupted him at a poker game. He assumed she never wanted to see him again, and she explained she thought about him often, but there were more pressing matters to attend to; she was pregnant. Eliza wasn't stupid, and Arthur was transparent about his living situation. He could make damn good money when he needed to, and he had no issue with supporting her with his income. Dutch had been informed of the situation and after much delegation, there was an agreement that Eliza and the baby could live with the gang if need be. 

But Eliza had flat out refused when Arthur explained it to her. No amount of sweet stories about the gang members would turn her opinion around. Their child was _not_ going to grow up to be an outlaw, or a conman, or a huckster. Eliza wanted it to have a good chance in the world, to have a good name and a bright future. Arthur wanted the same thing and he felt comforted by Eliza's steadfastness about her decision. Isaac was born several months later and finally his mother came to meet the gang. She'd watched them with fascination as they took turns gently caring for Isaac, looking at him with love in their eyes and cracking jokes to one another. Eliza knew of the crimes those people were capable of, and Arthur assumed she hadn't believed him when he said they were still good people. 

" _I'm glad to see they nurtured kindness in you_." she had said after he escorted her back home. She laid Isaac in the bassinet Susan spent her money on and touched Arthur's arm kindly. " _There's a lot more good in you than you think_."

He takes a breath in to calm himself and leans further into Hosea's side in order to be held. Hosea wraps his arms around him quickly in a tight bear hug and Arthur presses his ear against the older man's chest. He can feel and hear the conman's heart beat, a quiet and constant drum beat that allows him to steady his thoughts and his breathing. 

"What am I gonna do now?" he asks. 

Hosea has laid his cheek against the back of Arthur's head and he speaks against the younger man's hair. "You're going to take care of your child."

"I know that, but-" he shifts out of Hosea's tight embrace and lifts his head to meet the other's dark eyes. "-I mean what am I gonna do about his living? Eliza didn't want him to follow me as an outlaw and I don't want 'im to neither! This is all I know." He gestures to the woods around them as if Hosea could see his memories too.

"We'll come to figure it out. First, Isaac needs to wake up and be informed of the change in his life."

Death of his mother at age four. Arthur was little too when his own ma died, some illness that wracked her body until she was looking at him with bleary eyes and holding his hand with a loose grip. Begging to hold him closer in whispers and stroking his hair with shaky fingers. She'd been thin and sickly and sleepy. One night she went to bed and simply didn't wake up. His father had wrapped her in a blanket but that was the final bit of kindness Arthur ever saw from Lyle Morgan; after that they were on the run and Morgan junior constantly had a bruise some place. The hitting only let up when he stopped crying over his ma and became useful, which meant being bait for robberies or sneaking into places only his tiny frame could fit into. He was grateful when his daddy died years later, watching his neck snap and that hat of his fall off of his head. 

Arthur glances at that same hat now hooked over his knee and glares at the edge of the rope, at the wear and tear covering it's black rim and reaches for Hosea absentmindedly. The older man takes his hand without question and rubs his thumb against the back of his hand soothingly. 

"What if... what if I become my pa?" he says as his eyes shift towards the muggy water of the pond. 

"You aren't him."

"But-"

"Arthur." he turns his eyes to Hosea. The conman is watching him with a sweltering stare. "You are your own man. You're kinder than your father and better than he ever was. Ask anyone at camp and they'll tell you; you're a good dad to your boy. If things were different, if the world was a bit kinder to us all, I could see you on your porch with your kids in your lap while you read to them. I doubt ole Lyle ever considered doing that for you."

The younger outlaw sighs a ragged breath and looks back at the pond. A frog surfaces and finds a place to sit and wait for food to buzz past, a fat and wide little thing that curls it's feet beneath itself and holds still. 

"You've been a good dad to that boy-" Hosea continues as he squeezes Arthur's hand. "-Eliza wouldn't have involved you in Isaac's life if she didn't know you would treat her son right... Have you ever noticed how she refers to Isaac?"

His eyebrows twist and he shakes his head as his jaw pushes out.

"She never explicitly called him _only_ her son. Not once did she exclude you from the picture. I met a man when I went back for her- named Tom. He knew of you and the townsfolk seem to have some reverence in you." Arthur lets out another breath and Hosea's spare hand comes to run through his long blond hair. "Like I said: Eliza wouldn't have involved you if she didn't trust you."

"Yeah, but I bet she never expected to leave him with me. I ruined her life the night I got her pregnant." Arthur retracts his hand and curls it into a fist, covering it with his fingers. "If I hadn't been so stupid about Mary, and if I hadn't gotten drunk searching for a stranger's touch she wouldn't be dead."

"Don't carry the blame for everything that has happened on your own shoulders." Hosea shifts beside him and rests his hand against the younger man's knee. "You were both as drunk as each other when you conceived Isaac, and the only people that are to blame for her death are the men that killed her. Eliza trusted you, Arthur. At some level, she also loved you. In regard for the kind of love she held for you, that was her own secret to keep. Maybe one day you two could have settled down together and loved each other, you could have gone straight and lived out your life as an old man with a bunch of grandchildren. But what you need to focus on now is what you're going to do with your boy, and how you'll live up to the promise you made Eliza."

Arthur casts a sideways glance at the conman and raises his eyebrows. 

"You want me to leave?"

The whisper sits in the air and dissipates around Hosea's steady gaze. 

"That isn't for me to decide." the older man moves his hand back to his lap and secures his fingers around his ring. "Whatever you feel would be best for Isaac."

He lets out a breathy laugh that is absent of any humor. "He'd be better off staying in town with the people he knows instead of living with me."

"Don't you say that _shit_ , Arthur." he presses the edges of his tongue between his teeth as Hosea stands from the shore. "You want your boy to believe he was abandoned by his dad? That you never cared for him?"

Arthur looks up in alarm and opens his mouth, shaking his head quickly. "No! But-"

"There's no _but's_ in this situation!" Hosea rests his hands on his hips and distances himself from the younger man, allowing his anger to seethe but in such a way that it wouldn't come across as hatred towards Arthur. "You know what Eliza wanted for your son, and deep down, you know what you want for him and yourself. To say that he'd be better of without you- _ugh_!"

Hosea rarely raised his voice to get his point across. He was a calm man with a steady tone that only shouted if his instructions were interrupted by gunfire.

The younger man stands and scoops his hat on to his head. "I-I don't know what you want me to say, Hosea! The truth is that Isaac would be better of if I weren't his dad-"

"You're blind to the love your boy has for you!" Hosea faces him fully and squares his shoulders, lips curling in his rage. "Times you've come back from visiting them in the past, hiding your tears because when you tried to leave Isaac was running after your horse! Eliza having to hold him so he wouldn't try leaving with you! You think that boy didn't have nights alone with his mother where he wished he could be with you? That you could hold him and read him to sleep?"

Arthur feels his eyes welling up with tears and he blinks the burn away. "I've thought about it- I've thought on it so much."

"And now you have the greatest opportunity!" Hosea gestures between them, his own eyes widening with the tears he tries to hold back. "You-you-you're young! Dutch found you on the street and we've built you into an outlaw, but there's a chance to get away! This shit, this life... it'll kill us all in the end unless we find a way out of it. There are people out there, people in the east that would like to hang you for what you've done, people that would like to put a bullet in my back because of what I've done to them. But the west is still young, it's still filled with opportunity! You have a _chance_ , Arthur. The ability to step away and give Isaac the life Eliza wanted for him."

Arthur clears his throat and shakes his head. "I'm not a good man."

"You _are_." Hosea speaks as if he's pleading. "I know that you think you're only a killer and a hunter, but there's more to you. Don't let this life turn you into another miserable outlaw. Take your son and go west. Go and become someone better than life is trying to make you out to be."

He stares up at Hosea with sad blue eyes and raises his arms in question. "How? I can't just leave the gang like you and Bessie did! It's all I've ever had."

"Things change. I know that better than anybody. There was once a time I feared ever leaving my parent's home, and now I've seen more of this country than the seven generations before me combined. There's nothing wrong with wanting better for yourself, and you have an excuse to go! _Isaac_."

"But loyalty. I need to be loyal to what matters."

"And? What does?"

Arthur's eyebrows furrow. "Huh?"

"What in your life matters more than another, Arthur?"

Isaac mattered.

He fixes his hat on his head and drops his shoulders as their argument slowly evaporates from the cool air. Hosea stands his ground ahead of him in a way of forcing Arthur to face his thoughts and ideas, the young outlaw lowering his hand from his hat before placing it against his hip. His son was the only thing he'd been thinking about since finding Eliza on the floor in a pool of blood, her eyes skittering around in search of her son. 

"I went to go take her some money that night and visit them," Arthur starts quietly. "Outside seemed all calm but when I got closer, I had some sense that something was wrong without really understandin' why..."

That terrible night Arthur had been rehearsing watered down stories he'd tell Isaac when he paused in front of the pathway. The thin curtains indoors hadn't been moving, so his son hadn't been peering out the windows to see who was visiting. Arthur took his shotgun off of his horse and slipped off of the saddle, realizing no one was coming out of the house, either. It was too late for them to still be in town, and Eliza knew that he was due for a visit so she'd have been waiting with Isaac instead of sending the boy off to play with friends at the schoolhouse. He followed the steps up on the porch and noticed the door was damaged, the wood splintered and the lock absolutely demolished. The butt of his gun pushed the door open and he aimed into the dim light only to see the form of Eliza on the ground. Arthur rushed to her side, found her holding her stomach where she bled out profusely. He touched her cheek gently and started to move to get her bandaged, but she stopped him. 

"Isaac-" she whispered, taking his hand with her bloodied one. "-I told him to run."

Arthur held her hand sweetly and nodded to her words, wide eyes lifting to skim over the small cabin. There were no signs of Isaac indoors, just broken glass and turned over furniture. Eliza explained that two men broke into the house looking for money and one with a twitchy finger had shot her through the stomach. Isaac had apparently hidden until he was able to find an escape route and the last she saw of him, he was in only his pajamas and hurrying out the door. 

"Please, Arthur." she squeezed his hand with what little strength she still had. "Find our son."

"I will." he promises, cupping her face with his hand. "Keep pressing your hand to your wound and I'll be back soon with Isaac, alright?"

"I don't want him to see me like this any more than he needs to." she winced as Arthur removed his hand from hers, jostling her wound by accident. "Keep him safe."

"Yes ma'am." 

She'd grinned at him as he stood and turned away, hurrying back out of the cabin. Blood on his hands and staining the front of his jeans, Arthur followed small footprints to a hole in the foundation. There was a snake carcass with it's head bashed in and a different pool of blood beside it. Isaac's blood, not too much for him to worry about his son having been killed in that spot, but enough that anger starts to bubble up inside of him. Arthur Morgan was always good at hunting men. He'd done it since he was a kid with his father, one eye swollen shut and the other peering at groups of gunslingers drinking hard liquor in back alleys. At that time, he'd stolen their cash and run like hell, but over time he started to hunt them down like he was killing for game. Dutch taught him how to fight with more control instead of throwing fists and hoping they connected. Hosea taught him how to maneuver a knife and block a blade from going into his throat. Susan and Bessie taught him the basics of tracking but all he had to do was follow the stench of sleazy men to a camp in the woods. 

They'd looked up from drinking and laughing, smiles fading from their faces as Arthur loomed over them. He had the fire of hell in his eyes and Eliza's blood still fresh on the front of his clothes, and the men must have recognized him in Isaac's face. One had began to shift away but he'd forgotten he was closest to the boy. Arthur had glanced past and seen his son tied to a tree, looking at Arthur with big scared eyes, and he'd softened his gaze some. 

"Shut your eyes and sing to yourself, honey." he'd whispered. 

Isaac had nodded softly, shivering in the cold and still bleeding from his wounds as he shut his eyes. He'd sung some melody his mother taught him as Arthur proceeded to knock all men to the ground, refusing to let them live. Isaac had passed out halfway through his singing so Arthur hurried his killing, stabbing them, choking them. One man died with a shotgun blast across his face when he reached for his gun. 

Arthur had cut the ropes away from the tree and removed his coat, slipping Isaac into it like he was still a small baby. Isaac hadn't woken when he shook him, so Arthur bound the jacket around him and lifted him into his arms, scurrying past the bloody camp towards his horse. When he got back to the cabin in hopes of informing Eliza, he'd found her open eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. He'd never ridden his horse like he had that night. Lawmen chasing them through open fields, or riding beside a train to jump on to it would never match to the way he rode trying to hurry back to his family. His horse had been pushed to its limit and started acting up when he'd breached the spot near camp, and Arthur had started to lose his composure. 

He called out to John when he spotted the teenager and Marston had been so helpful, such a good person as he soothed Arthur's horse and fetched the others. That whole night he hadn't slept. Not until he slouched over his son in the late morning, his exhaustion hitting him like a punch to the gut. 


	4. The Father, The Son

_Only you can make that decision._

Arthur is curled up on the ground beside Isaac's cot when the little boy starts to stir. He mumbles something and shifts, bringing his teddy bear closer to his face and wiping his drool off on it's ear. The young outlaw lifts his chin and watches his son, then moves himself to his knees and hooks his fingers over the edge of the cot. Isaac's eyes move behind his lids and finally dark eyelashes part to reveal shining little eyes. They're a bit glossy still, and Bessie had warned that there would be no telling on the effects of his mind until he fully woke up. Arthur hopes for the best as Isaac stares at the canvas roof, eyebrows pulling in question before he turns his gaze to his father. 

"Papa?" he whispers. Arthur swallows and leans closer, resting his hand gently over his son's chest. 

"Hey, little bear." he speaks softly, watching Isaac's eyelids flutter. "How do you feel?"

" 'm hungry. And sore. Where are we?"

"I'll get you some food." He strokes his son's hair. "And we're at my camp with uncle Dutch and-"

Isaac's face brightens though he's still very tired. "I can see Bessie and Hosea?"

"Sure thing. I'll go and get 'em for you-" Isaac reaches out with haste and takes Arthur's large hand, tugging him back to the side of the cot. 

"No, stay. Please stay, papa." The young outlaw nods and rests his chin against the side of the cot. "I saw mama get hurt- that's why I'm here?"

Arthur had to commend his son for his intelligence. For having been asleep for days after the hell those men put him through, he was still as smart as a whip. He had hoped he could put off explaining things to his son for a while longer, maybe give him some time to recuperate after waking up and allow him a chance at peace before having to be told of his mother's passing. But, perhaps this was better. Arthur had watched his mom slowly die, and witnessed his father's hanging; there were no peaceful periods between them. He'd spent his life moving and running, and now he had the chance to stop avoiding mistakes and responsibilities. 

He musters his courage and takes his son's hand, looking him in the eye while he informs Isaac that Eliza had passed away. There isn't an immediate reaction from the boy; his eyes grow sad and he drops his gaze to their intertwined hands. Then he takes a moment before pushing his eyes shut, his bottom lip jutting out as he begins crying. Arthur stands and takes his son in his arms, curling up beside him on that cot and holding him close to his chest. He's careful not to jostle him or make his injuries any worse, pressing his lips to the side of his son's head as tears well up in his own eyes. There had been many times Isaac had cried in front of him, when he was a baby until he could walk and talk on his own. Originally he'd cried because he needed something and didn't understand words, but it had changed to him crying when Arthur had to leave to join back up with the gang. 

_You're blind to the love that boy has for you!_

Arthur Morgan knew he could be a damned fool. In love, in care, in living life and taking it with simplicity. Hosea read him like a book, just like the others did, but no one was let into Arthur's life quite like that older man. The young outlaw knew of Magnolia, the girl who was gone before her time and wondered if some of Hosea's fears were being reflected on to Arthur. A wish for him to get out while he can, to take Isaac and give him a good life.

But he already knew in his heart what he would do. He'd been thinking rapidly ever since Isaac was first laid in that cot, his wounds dressed and his ear stitched while he slept. To be holding him now, soothing him as his son cried about his mother by no one's fault other than the killers who took her life, Arthur knew truly what he _had_ to do. 

Isaac's crying calms to sniffles and Arthur uses the edge of his sleeve to wipe his son's tears and snot away. The little boy holds his bear in one hand, and Arthur's free wrist in the other as the young outlaw cleans him up, wiping his thumb across his son's forehead. Isaac allows him to step out for a moment, but only a few short seconds. Enough time for Arthur to call for Bessie before he's stepping back inside and sitting on the edge of the cot. She steps in and brings with her a warm air, a loving air as she shuts the cold wind out and crosses over the floor of the tent. Isaac looks up at her with sad eyes, still thinking of his mother being gone as Bessie pulls up the chair and studies him. 

She talks to him as she checks his wounds, then makes sure that his extremities work. She asks him to wiggle his toes and when the blanket shifts, she pinches his feet. It's enough to make him giggle softly, and when she does it to the other, he laughs a little louder. Bessie has Arthur help his son out of bed before bringing him to stand. Isaac wobbles a little, but puts his arms out to show that he can walk. He treads over the thin carpet Annabelle had placed over the ground and curls his toes in it, looking up at them with tired eyes. Bessie does a few more tests: has him follow her finger with his eyes, checks his reaction time by clapping and startling him, throws a crumpled ball of paper for him to catch and has him dodge light things like small pillows. 

All in all, Isaac is mostly healthy. 

Hosea steps inside with medicine and Isaac latches on to him like he always did. They play games with each other as Bessie readies the remedy in her mortar and pestle, Arthur watching from alongside his son as the conman pretends to forget where he put his hat, which is resting atop his head. It has Isaac giggling and holding his stomach, briefly forgetting about the bad news as Hosea stands and starts to search the entirety of the tent. Eventually, the little boy takes pity on Matthews and points at his head, Hosea removing it and smiling. 

He meets Arthur's eyes and there's a quiet communication between them, confirmation that the young outlaw had an answer to their previous conversation at the pond. Hosea runs his thumb over the brim of his hat and nods, laying it back over his head as Bessie beckons Arthur to aid her in cleaning Isaac's wounds. 

They're at the point that most no longer need bandaging. Arthur helps apply cold salve that Isaac wriggles under and he tickles his son as he goes, trying to keep him laughing and smiling for as long as he can. Bessie holds him still so she can remove the bandaging around his ear, wanting to check the stitching Hosea had done for the boy while he slept. It's a little irritated, but it was nothing they didn't already have a remedy for. Isaac makes pained noises as they apply a little more salve to it and each adult apologizes profusely, promising that it was only doing that because it was being cleaned. 

Bessie kisses the top of Isaac's head and steps away, patting Arthur's arm before she follows her husband out of the tent. He kneels beside his son who dangles his legs over the cot and looks up at him, at the intelligence in his eyes framed by tired bags. Isaac reaches out and touches his father's beard, running his little fingers through it in curiosity before he shivers.

"Here," Arthur takes his son's hand and stands. "Let's get you dressed, little bear."

It'd do Isaac good to bathe, too. Properly scrub all the dirt from his hair and body and get him feeling refreshed before he had to face anything else. But Arthur sits in front of him on that tent floor and helps him into his little pants, then lets him choose a shirt to go with it and pulls that over his arms afterwards. Arthur buttons it up and searches for the socks John had found back at the cabin, unfurling them and helping his son into them. For the life of them, they couldn't find any shoes without holes in them, so Arthur helps Isaac wriggle into the least busted pair and he grabs the blanket off of the cot. He drapes it around his son's shoulders and the little boy holds it tight, Arthur guiding him out of the tent. 

Isaac stops a few feet from the flaps and takes in the sight of the camp. Bill and John have been playing a knife game together, but they've stopped abruptly at the sight of the little boy. Bill reaches for his beer and decides he wants to hide the bottle, accidentally knocking it off and moving to pick it up off the ground. John lowers the knife to the table and offers a wave that Isaac returns shyly, the little boy reaching out from under the blanket for his father's hand. Arthur takes it and keeps him moving closer to the campfire where Annabelle sat. She's mending one of Dutch's torn gloves and not paying too much mind to Isaac. She smiles at him as he draws closer, patting the spot on the log beside her. 

Arthur guides his son to sit and makes sure he's comfortable before moving to grab him some food. He'd feel better if he could give Isaac something warm to eat, preferably freshly made with some actual nutrients instead of the shit he got away with eating while on the run. Canned stuff was out of the question as far as Arthur was concerned, but Susan reveals a bucket of fish she'd caught while out with Bessie and they start preparing the meal for everyone. It was a strange time for the rest of the camp to eat since they usually had appointed hours in which meals might be served, but it wouldn't hurt for a little community hour for Isaac. 

Dutch escapes his own tent and brushes past Arthur with a gentle touch to his shoulder, going to sit alongside the boy. He eases the little kid into conversation, praising Annabelle while she works. Hosea comes around the side with fresh firewood and throws a piece or two in to better warm Isaac. Isaac watches as Hosea seats himself and when Arthur isn't busy preparing the meal between Susan and now Bessie, he's glancing up in time to spot Hosea shying Isaac's hands away from scratching at his healing wounds. 

Its sweet. Hosea had done the same to both Arthur and John a lot of times growing up. Bessie had too, including Hosea in her scolding when he scratched at wounds. That old man had a lot of scars on his body, some he could have been spared from if he'd simply left his wounds alone. 

"Are you learning to read, Isaac?" Hosea asks him as Isaac curls up in Annabelle's side. She passes Dutch his glove and the gang leader stands to put them back in his tent. 

"I was. But I'm too young to go to school yet."

"You want to go to school?" Isaac nods as Annabelle secures her arm around him. "Education is a wonderful thing. Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?"

"Not yet. But I like drawing! Just like papa."

Arthur meets Hosea's eyes across the camp and feels Bessie nudge him gently as the older man laughs softly. 

"Your papa's real good at art. He could teach you a lot of things."

They carry a conversation until the meal is finished. Everyone else is called around to eat, forming a circle around the fire and chatting with one another. Arthur brings his son too much food but promises Susan he'll split it so Isaac doesn't make himself sick, sitting beside him on the log and feeling the little boy curl up in his side instead of Annabelle's. Annabelle sends him a gentle look and graciously takes a plate offered by Dutch before the big man himself sits in one of the chairs. 

Arthur takes a few bites of food and offers spoonful's to his son, scooping the slop up and offering it to the boy. They'd managed to make a sauce to coat the seasoned fish and Susan had scrounged up vegetables to include. Arthur notices quickly that Bill and John are avoiding them and shooting them in the fire when no one notices, snickering to one another until Susan sends them a look across the flames. Dutch doesn't do the same, but he does set aside his plate only for it to be found filled with greens and pale whites. Hosea relocates those pieces to other bowls, dumping a large number in John's food before offering it to the others. He pops a sauce-covered bean in his mouth and cleans his fingers as Isaac takes the spoon from Arthur and feeds his father in return. 

His chest warms at the notion. Arthur takes the food off of the end of the spoon and hums, Isaac smiling softly before he moves his eyes to the ground. He was such a sweet little thing, a good human made by a bad man and a kind woman who were both suffering ill hearts. He thinks of a different life where he didn't have to scrap for food on the street, where he and Eliza lived in a quaint little home together making food and humoring their son. Isaac would feed him a spoonful and they'd all laugh sweetly together. 

Instead, Arthur's with a different kind of family. His outlaw community that saved his life and gave meaning to his existence. Eliza passing away was far from perfect, but in these moments as the adults amuse his son and John keeps shooting beans into the fire, it feels okay. 

=

Town gets quiet when Isaac Morgan comes to visit. 

Tomorrow, they'll bury Eliza. But today, they're here to buy Isaac necessities. What counts as necessities, Arthur doesn't really know. They start with getting him new shoes and a pair for when he outgrows his current ones. Then clothing that he can grow into and a jacket that sits too big on him. But Arthur knows his son will be big enough to fit it one day, and he's slightly panicking and handing off his money without really thinking. The next thing he gets Isaac are toys, and a sketchbook and pencils. Books he'll learn to read that are in better conditions than the one at camp and candies, because Isaac had a sweet tooth like his father. 

People in the saloon get loud when Isaac arrives. Arthur's brought him to get a good meal here and to wash him, first starting with bathing him in the tub that makes him look so tiny. Isaac likes the bubbles, and he enjoys putting them on his dad's head, too. Arthur lets him do so, blowing bubbles back at the little boy and eventually being splashed for his joking. Drying him is easy and Isaac balances better than he did the day he woke up, so he gets dressed in half the time. Arthur seems to be a natural when it comes to caring for kids, and he ties his son's shoelaces and follows downstairs. 

They share a meal together and people come by to greet Isaac and meet Arthur. They get some condolences but it seems that the people here are aware of the pain they're in. Sad eyes shoot their way, but its over powered by gratefulness and happiness at the sight of Isaac Morgan still standing. 

"I'm tough like my papa!" he tells people when they ask him about how he's feeling. 

Arthur pats his head and looks at his son with a shy expression while townsfolk laugh. They receive lots of well wishes that day, promises that people will attend Eliza's burial, that even though it was work day, they wouldn't miss it. 

Seeing how many people arrive to her funeral fascinates Arthur. It seems that the whole town has been put on pause to support a fake widow and his son. A sea of black fills the pews and the outskirts of the church as a service is lead, and that sea of black follows them to Eliza's final resting place. Arthur walks behind the casket with Isaac in his arms, watching as Bill, Hosea, and Dutch join three civilians in carrying it to Eliza's grave. Isaac had seen her the few hours before she was buried because he wanted to give her one last kiss, and as she's lowered in the ground with Arthur and their son at the foot of her grave, he thinks of how Isaac adjusted her hair and then ran to his side. 

The little boy is the first one to throw dirt over her casket, and the only one permitted to leave an red flower. Everyone else leaves purple ones because they were the easiest to get, and that evening as Arthur stands alone in front of her grave, his hat in his hands and promises whispered on his lips, he cries at the sight of the stack of flowers left behind for one of the best people he had in his life. 

Her burial passes by faster than Arthur thought it would. Everything that day felt like a rush, as if he was being thrown from one person to the next like a feather in the wind. He'd shook hands and met so many people, but he couldn't put names to their faces if he tried. They seem to understand that as Arthur takes Isaac through his boy's hometown one last time, letting his son give he and the Matthews couple a tour. He knew every part of this town like the back of his hand and he prided himself on giving them a theatrical show. Apparently, parts of Hosea that bled into Arthur had bled into Isaac, too. But when Isaac isn't feeling low after losing his mother, he smiles and shows them pig pens where he's named every animal, and how he gives them stories on how they got there. 

Isaac is introducing them to Tabitha when Bessie turns to someone that has arrived. A lithe man about Arthur's height who removes a dark brown hat with a torn and sagging brim. He pushes dirtied fingers over his blond hair and greets Hosea, wiping his hand on the back of his pants before shaking Bessie's. 

"This is the man I met when we..." Hosea glances at Isaac who is petting Tabitha's head. "... _checked_ on the house."

The man was a few years younger than Arthur, so hardly a man at all. But he held himself tall and strong and had good strength in his eyes. The same could be said for his handshake when he introduced himself. 

"Thomas Davies." he says. "But I tend to go by Tom."

"Hi, Tom." Isaac says as he climbs down from the fence of the pig pen and steps between his father and Davies. "This is my papa."

Arthur smiles softly and pats his son's shoulder. "It's good to meet you, Tom. Eliza mentioned you once or twice when I had the chance to stay home."

"I've heard a lot about you, mister Morgan. Especially from Isaac," he sends a light blue gaze Isaac's way and winks, smiling once the boy does. "I should say I'm honored to finally meet you."

"I appreciate that. How can I help you?"

Tom hooks his hat over the edge of the fence and leans against it as Isaac climbs back up. Arthur mirrors his position and does the same as Hosea occupies the space behind the newcomer, watching out of the corner of his eye. 

"Yesterday was a busy day for all of you and I wanted to send y'all off with some good wishes. See if I can't help you some." he lifts his hand before Arthur can speak. "Not to say you ain't capable men and women, I know that by the posters a little further south."

Arthur presses his lips together and takes Tom's shoulder gently, moving him away from the pig pen. "I don't want to be rude, 'specially not to a man I've just met, but I like to avoid discussing my work in front of Isaac. You see, I made a promise to Eliza-"

"She said only good things-"

"Let me speak, Davies." the younger man quiets down as Arthur turns to him. "You seem like a good kid. Smart and capable like any person here. But I can't have you runnin' your mouth in front of Isaac."

Tom nods, blond hair falling from behind his ear and draping over his brow. "I apologize, mister Morgan. What I had meant by my statement was I'm aware- just as Eliza was- 'bout what y'all do for cash. And I ain't family, and I sure as hell ain't that boy's daddy, but I was... I owe Eliza a lot more than she might have told you about. And this town, it don't have a lot for me."

Arthur removes his hand from Tom's shoulder and hooks his thumbs in his belt. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothin', mister Morgan. All I know is that you're going to leave soon, to wherever that might be, with Isaac and your group, and he's never going to come back here."

"You wanna make sure I treat him right?"

"Yes sir."

Arthur doesn't allow his expression to change, but his blank stare at Davies' effects the younger man more than any glare could have. 

"But you don't mean no offense my way?" Tom opens his mouth but Arthur cuts him off. "I ain't sure you know my story, son, so I'll give it to you quick: my pa was a mean bastard that beat me sideways and hurt any manner of people that came across him. He had his chances to get out of that life, to leave and raise me proper, but he liked hurting people. _I ain't him_. And I ain't gonna subject Isaac to that type of bullshit as much as I can help it."

Tom had overstepped his boundaries some and it was evident in his eyes that he regretted having done so. But with Isaac's survival, Arthur found that forgiveness came easier, so he merely shook Davies' hand again and they went back to the group. It's easy conversation there on out; Isaac chips in about how much Tom had been helping them and Arthur realizes Tom didn't just _owe_ Eliza- he had loved her. He came to love Isaac, too, no doubt. But glancing at Tom while he spoke and eased the air around them made him understand that the love wasn't romantic nor physical. He talked about Eliza like she was her sister, like Arthur would talk about John, and that eased something more deep in the young outlaw. Davies stepped over the boundaries because Isaac was something like a nephew to him, and he'd only just met the father. 

And despite Arthur's best black clothes for Eliza's funeral, he was still obviously a nomad. He lived with a group of people out in the woods who dressed themselves in ratty clothes and wielded sparkling guns. He only visited every once in a while, at every chance that they were this far east, bringing enough cash to cover expenses until he was visiting again on a new horse, with gleaming guns and clothes with patches on them. 

But apparently Eliza had left a good word behind for him and Arthur felt himself being urged to take the boy with him. 

_The boy_. 

It was his own son, for fucks sake. He loved him dearly and he cared for him like nothing else in his life. He'd already killed for him, so he knew he would die for Isaac if the time came. Just like Eliza had. Rerouting his thoughts in his head as Hosea babbles, he organizes himself to understand that this whole town of people that had seen Isaac grow up held some level of trust in Arthur. Trust to give him love and raise him well. Arthur had given off the impression of a man that wasn't fit to be tied down very easily, so they knew Isaac would be moving on. But there was no blame from these people; just pity at the fact that this town was now tainted with Eliza's death. 

Tom gives them an address scribbled on a worn piece of paper and Arthur pockets it with another promise. They follow the blond through town, Isaac greeting people in a way that resembled goodbye. Arthur felt bad for doing this to him, but Hosea was right- they should go west like Eliza wanted and give Isaac a better chance. 

Maybe the town knew of her wishes too. 

There's a quick stop to Eliza's grave and Arthur cleans the letters though they were still shining. Isaac sits in front of it in silence for a long while, neither crying nor talking, just reading the letters and imprinting them to memory. Arthur sits with him when his son reaches for his hand, both of them cuddling in front of Eliza's grave marker until Isaac pulls an object from his big coat pockets and hands it to his father. 

"Mama made this." he says. It's made of dark green, light blue, and black beads. "But I don't know how to tie a knot."

Something traditional Eliza had created for their son before she passed away. Carefully, Arthur brings it around Isaac's neck and ties the rope knot in the back, watching as his son takes the beads in his hands and peers down at them. He's silent for a few seconds before he approaches his mother's gravestone and lays against it, giving her one last hug.

After they both bid farewell to Eliza, Arthur climbs on to his horse and hoists Isaac on to the saddle, resting him on his lap. His son leans back against him and pulls Arthur's coat around his face, hiding himself from the rest of town. Arthur hears him sniffling and hugs him close as he steers the horse to follow Hosea and Bessie out of town, everyone who watched Isaac grow up standing on their doorsteps and the side of the road to wave goodbye. 


	5. Memories

Instead of going west, they go east, far enough into the New York mountains for Hosea to start reminiscing about times when he was young and hunted with home made traps and crappy bows and arrows. John assumed most of them were tall tales, but they struck the more wild side in the teenager as they traveled further east and deeper into civilization. The idea of calm and collected Hosea Matthews acting as wild as John could be amused him to end and he began shaping an image of the conman as a lanky teen with his own bad facial hair. 

Isaac enjoys these stories tremendously. He's perched on his father's lap as they ride, holding the big blue coat around his shoulders for added warmth. He's been moving between utter silence and childlike rambunctiousness mostly because of his coping with his mother's death. John had come to hear the story of what happened to Eliza from Arthur, and found out Isaac that the little boy was intended to be ransomed by the men that took him. Watching him now, staring out from the fur of Arthur's coat as Hosea and Bessie traded off bits of another tall tale, John could see the awe in his eyes. Arthur lifts the arm that's been hanging at his side to his son and adjusts him so he sits better, making sure he's safe and comfortable as they follow Hosea to his childhood cabin. 

"Not far now," he says as his story dwindles and the laughter from Bessie calms. "Just up here to the left."

They go through the thick trees and round left to find a frost covered cabin puffing smoke from its roof. One of the windows is boarded up, but the rest of it finds itself presentable and kind, flowerbeds still blooming and a garden pushing on despite the conditions. There's a single horse in a shed that peers at them as they approach and an outhouse not far from the pathway. John spots benches made of logs and a pit in the center designating a campfire as Hosea pulls his horse to a stop in front of the cabin and calls out.

" _Wir sind heir_ ," the older man says and John looks at him in confusion. 

He sees the curtains inside move before the worn wooden door opens, eyes peering out at them with suspicion before the expression in the aged face melts into recognition. 

"Hosea!" an older woman steps out in a flurry as the conman climbs out of the saddle, Bessie following him. "And you brought the wife and kids, I see."

This woman speaks with a thick accent muddled with hesitations in her words and ice to her tone. Arthur helps Isaac on the ground before climbing from his horse, gesturing for John to get down when the teen doesn't move fast enough. The old woman frets over Bessie like she's a child and Marston sets foot on the icy ground, moving to put himself behind Arthur. 

"What'd he say?" he asks quietly as the old woman moves to swat at Hosea, who gives a stricken smile and darts out of the way. 

"I dunno." Arthur admits as Isaac takes a handful of his pant leg. He soothes his son by rubbing his shoulders. "I think it's German."

"He just knows all languages, don't he?"

The bigger outlaw chuckles and motions for them to move forth as three pairs of eyes turn on them in curiosity. John doesn't want to approach; he doesn't like how this woman holds herself, or looks at them, or has been swatting at Hosea for the last twenty seconds like he's being attacked by bugs. He surely doesn't enjoy the way Hosea plasters a bad smile over his face like he isn't one of the best actors and conmen in the country, too pained to truly hide how he feels. Arthur grows somewhat tense and John knows he's sensed it too; Bessie is watching her husband over her mother-in-law's shoulder with a hard look and Isaac starts to creep behind his father to hide behind his legs. 

A tiny hand grasps the front of John's coat and he looks down in surprise, finding Isaac has decided that both young men are good things to hold on to. 

"Ah, they've been feeding you well, I see." the old woman goes to pat Arthur, squeezing his arms and poking at his chest. He's broad, he's big, he's made purely out of muscle and he knows it. "Not quite as big as that Dutch man, though."

Arthur moves away shyly and scratches at his out-turned ears, glancing at John as the old woman's gaze moves past the young outlaw and towards the teenager.

"This here is John." Hosea says after creeping back to his wife's side. "The newest addition. Besides Isaac, obviously."

John feels scrutinized under this old woman's gaze and he feels his jaw tense without action. She moves closer to him, looms over him and touches his hair like she's known him for years. 

" _Der Junge ist dreckig_." she comments, and John feels like he should be grateful he doesn't speak a lick of German. "Du hättest es nicht waschen können?"

The scrutiny turns back to Hosea but he's collected himself and put strength in his spine again. "Sie sollten dankbar sein, dass ich Sie besucht habe."

Whatever he said, the old woman lets go of John and starts to fuss over him with kindness instead of spite. She gets to Isaac, but the little boy moves further behind Arthur's back, treading circles around his father until he's rushing behind John for safety. He feels those small hands clutching the back of his coat, tugging him because this old hag won't leave him alone, and Hosea says something else in German that catches her attention and something clicks behind her eyes. 

She leads them into the tiny cabin and has them sit on various surfaces, having John stoke the fire for her as she collects food from her cabinets and starts throwing something together. Hosea chats, fills the space of quiet air like he normally does and John finds it comforting. He keeps taking glances to the couple as they sit together, hands intertwined as they perch themselves at the small table. Arthur sits in a seat in the corner with Isaac on his lap, both watching the old woman as she continues putting food together for the group, listening to what her son has to say. She starts huffing as she works, at least until Hosea stands begrudgingly and takes over. John has taken his seat when the old woman starts shooting comments in German, motioning wildly to Bessie, then back to her son. It's not quite the happy little cabin Hosea sometimes bad his childhood out to be, and a few hours in, Hosea has to excuse himself from the cramped space for some fresh air. 

He leaves his jacket hooked over the back of his seat and his hat on the table, exiting the house with more haste than he intended. 

"So, Isaac is your son?" the old lady asks as she takes the seat Hosea used to occupy. Bessie hasn't gotten up to follow him yet, but she's glancing at the door and meeting John's eyes briefly. 

"Yes, ma'am." Arthur answers as Isaac eats more of the porridge she made. 

Bessie eventually stands and excuses herself from the table in order to follow her husband, at least after the old lady snaps again uselessly and says more in a language neither John or Arthur understand. Isaac and Arthur move to use the outhouse and John stands to step out and feed the horses. It's a bareface lie, but the old lady doesn't seem the care. She's started muttering to herself and cleaning as if she's forgotten she has company so John slips out quickly and takes a deep breath of mountain air. 

It is beautiful here. Hosea must have gotten up to a whole lot while out in the mountains, honing his hunting abilities and teaching himself how to survive. As John removes root from the saddlebags to feed the horses, he wonders if Hosea spent more time outdoors and living in the woods than he did in the cabin. Once he got older, no doubt. Probably scampered off into the woods to purposefully get himself lost and bask in the silence instead of the insults and snapping. That thin layer of frost still coats the ground and after John successfully feeds the animals, he goes and wanders the property a little, finding old marks on trees and an arrow still lodged in some bark. It's weathered and old, with feather's tied half-assed to it's back end. But there's writing on it's side, an engraving where he could read Hosea's name in capital letters. Cobwebs and frost connects it to the tree and John touches it's feathered end softly, once again trying to imagine Hosea as a child. 

That's when he hears voices in the trees. Muttering but conversing, unable to be the wind because John understands some of the words that float his way. He sees tracks in the frost and follows them some of the way before coming to rest on a fallen tree, listening as Hosea and Bessie talk. 

"-I thought it would be a nicer experience for the boys." it's Hosea. He sighs after he finishes his sentence, and John hears the brush near him shifts with the sound of movement. 

"You shouldn't put yourself up to things you don't enjoy for anyone's sake, 'Sea." there's a pause, then he hears her exhale softly. "Even if you thought one of them might find it to a kind place to be."

Hosea grunts. "I've lied to those boys about my life here. She's never been kind- I don't know why I'm even trying. She doesn't deserve to know John, or Arthur, or Isaac. She hardly earned the right to meet you, just like me-"

"I'm not some kind of treasure you earn to touch." her tone is almost scalding. "And don't you say that about yourself. We both know she's got illness of the brain, but if she won't accept help, then she'll only get worse. And maybe it's better that the boys don't know the extent of what your childhood was like- you've all experienced similar things thanks to your parents. Arthur and John's dad's snapped and hurt them physically, but your mom loses control and has been hurting you mentally since you were a little kid. No wonder you're so harsh on yourself."

There's a few beats of silence before John overhears them shuffling together and kissing. He's going to stand to leave before Hosea talks again. 

"You _are_ a treasure, my sweet."

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes, and I get it. She would have better control if she accepted aid, but she's her own person. She never listened to me anyways. At least Isaac enjoyed the porridge."

They share soft laughter. "Shall we head back?"

"Just a moment longer. It's quiet here." John peers over the top of the bushes and finds them gently grasping one another in the midst of the sunbeams and the frost, their eyes shut and their foreheads pressed together. " _Je t'aime_."

"Je t'aime, mon plus beau rêve."

John couldn't speak French, but he deeply understood. 

=

They do finally go west. All of them on their horses, Annabelle and Hosea trading off guiding the small wagon of things over treacherous land. They make camp several times before arriving at a city; Dutch said it was because they needed cash and it would pay off here. But John hates cities. He hates the smell, the sound, the _look_ of them. People are rotting where they stand and begging for money on corners, then those same people are shooed away by blue uniforms because they want some food and to provide for their families. But they're not here for the shanty side of town, or for the hungry kids in the streets. 

No, this time they're crossing the pathways in front of the docks in search of some rich men to target. They'll help the poor, eventually, but they themselves needed some money to tide them over until they could keep moving. Isaac was growing with the food he was given and he almost ate as John. He'd already snapped at the little boy about taking his food without permission, or arguing simple points because the kid took too long to form some of his sentences and read too slow when they were doing lessons. 

That meant that he and Arthur were on the outs. Arthur hated it when anyone raised their voice at Isaac, but John deemed it necessary for the kid to actually listen. But everybody was soft on him cause he was tiny, he was cute, he had his father's dimples and he was covered in freckles. Dutch had took Isaac out for a theater show while they were in the city and managed to use him as a distraction so he could swindle some cash out of a business man's hands. Arthur hadn't known, and John wasn't going to be the one to tell him, but it left a bad taste in his mouth. Isaac _was_ a sweet thing, if not one of the most irritating people Marston had ever met, and they were going west in hopes of changing his future for the better. 

Sometimes it struck him that it meant Arthur would leave them. Eventually, he'd no longer be running with the gang shooting guns, winning fights, or being Dutch's imposing muscle. One day he'd be a dad settled down with his son in some town out west, no doubt making pies and drawing art so his boy had some happiness. 

And that twisted something in John's gut when he thought about it. He'd only gotten angrier since Isaac arrived, and he was truly trying his best to not take it out on the kid. Isaac didn't deserve that, and Marston knew it. Especially when he looked up at John with big eyes speckled with Arthur's blue, when he smiled and his dimples popped out. It'd been getting hard for Isaac to smile lately because he was remembering more of the night his mama was killed, and so he'd been refusing lessons and curling up in his cot (now in his own tent with Arthur and leaving John to share with Bill) crying quietly. There'd been a few tantrums, a lot of wailing, and once or twice he'd hit people because he didn't want to be touched. 

John felt a little bit of jealousy at that. Isaac was being given the chance to mourn what was lost and was able to express his grief, even though letting it out landed with everyone in camp exhausted and with splitting headaches. At the end of it, he always apologized and curled up in either Arthur, Dutch, or Bessie's lap because of it. He'd make them art out of rocks and sticks and would give misshapen presents to John after Marston had snapped at him, like it was Isaac's fault and not his own because he was _also_ young and growing. 

Annabelle is guiding them through the city in her sparkling red dress, holding Isaac's hand and pointing at signs so he can try reading them. There's a pamphlet between John's fingers, an advertisement someone had passed off to them when they brushed past because they wanted the word to be spread and Isaac needed to keep reading. John's reading over it to make sure it's kid-friendly and appropriate for Isaac to study when he bumps into Annabelle. She smiles sweetly at him and opens a great big oak door before tapping the little boy to enter. It's dim and cold in here, the blinds half-drawn and weird animals watching them from the higher reaches of the walls. But these animals don't move, and it spooks Isaac some. He takes Annabelle's hand again and presses himself to her skirt as his eyes flicker over the antlers and horns, of birds now presented in one position until their taxidermied bodies eventually gave way and collapsed. 

"Why are they stuck?" John hears Isaac whispering. 

He steps closer to the little boy and nudges him, capturing his attention. "It's taxidermy."

"T..."

"Tax-i-dermy."

"T...tax-i-dermy."

"Yeah. It's kinda like... uh, like a trophy. You know trophies?" Isaac nods, his eyes still trained on a dusty boar. "Sometimes people are so proud of their hunts that they take the bodies and do taxidermy."

It isn't the most eloquent explanation, but Isaac seems to understand what John is trying to say. As Annabelle is greeted by an older man and they begin talking, Isaac finds his bravery and starts wandering over to a deer head that's been mounted, but never hung. John follows him and finds that the boy is too short to see on to the table, so he slips the pamphlet into his pocket and wraps his arms around Isaac's chest, hoisting him so he can see better. He's not strong enough, and Isaac wriggles a little, but soon he's too fascinated in gently touching the thin layer of dust over the antlers to remember why he was afraid. 

The corridors the older man guides them down are dark and dusty as well, with fewer animal heads and bodies, but more paintings and billowing curtains. Isaac holds John's hand for the duration of the walk as Annabelle focuses on their guide's words, the four of them entering another door and being brought into bright light. It seems to be the only place that has an uncovered window, and it stands on the top floor overlooking a courtyard and the rooftops around them. Hosea, Dutch, and Susan are already waiting for them around a great big mahogany table, Dutch smoking his cigar as miss Grimshaw starts pouring herself a cup of tea. 

"The other's haven't made it back yet?" Annabelle asks as Dutch pushes away from the table and greets her with a kiss. 

"Not yet." Susan answers as she passes the pot to Hosea. "Isaac, would you like some tea?"

He nods his head as he pulls himself up on the chair beside Hosea. "Yes please."

John drops himself in his own seat and lays the pamphlet on the table as Hosea pours the little boy a cup, warning him to let it cool before he offers some to John. The teen declines as nicely as he can while Dutch sits back down with Annabelle occupying the chair beside him, their leader looking at her warmly as Isaac peers into his cup with curious eyes.

Sometimes, he looked so much like Arthur. He made a lot of the same expressions and his nose pushed further out than John remembered Eliza's having done. Isaac looks into his cup with the same curious face Arthur had made numerous times and John wonders what was learned by imprint and what's genetic. Maybe Arthur got those mannerisms through blood from his mother, and she got it from a long line of Welsh ancestors before her. John knew some of his actions were that of blood instead of having been taught, knew that he smiled like his mother because his father had smacked him once for it. 

The door opens again and Bill enters with Bessie and Arthur, the latter two looking exhausted as Bill rambles on about something, letting out a curse that has everyone sending him scolding stares. He presses his lips together and glances at Isaac, apologizing gruffly before telling Isaac not to repeat anything he said. Isaac smiles at him and John knows the little kid thinks Williamson is funny; Isaac's personal clown. 

John smiles at Isaac's amused expression and watches as Arthur lifts his son and steals the chair, resting Isaac on his lap and wrapping his arms around the little boy. He looks tired and tense and Isaac picks up on it quickly, turning to look at his dad with that little kid wobble. His freckled face turns upwards and he watches Arthur for a few seconds before the young outlaw runs his hand over his son's healing ear, muttering something to him. Isaac nods at his words and faces the table again, Bessie having brought a pencil and paper from her bag so the father and son could draw together. 

"-do you think about Glasner?" Dutch questions as Annabelle slips her fingers through his. 

Hosea shrugs as he lowers his cup to its saucer. "He seems easy enough. His house isn't overly protected, and he's always hosting parties and going somewhere."

"So you think we can do it?"

"I know it _can_ be done. Not that we'll manage it. And we've got to consider the amount of foot traffic that passes his house even well into the night. Though he may not be occupying it at the time we decide to strike, there's still the strong chance we'll be spotted and the law will get involved."

"Then we go in through the back!" Bill chimes, but Hosea and Dutch are both shaking their heads.

"We can't risk entering the neighbors properties." Hosea rests his cheek against his knuckles, watching as Isaac forms a tree with his pencil. "If we do, we'll attract more attention than we need and there won't be a chance to actually get _into_ the house."

"You two aren't really considering robbing him, are you?" Bessie asks. The questionable silence that has settled over the table answers her question and her eyebrows furrow. "Don't. There's good money to be found in this city, and not from men like Glasner."

"It'll be easy-" Dutch begins. 

"Ira will have men hidden in his house," Susan says for her friend. "I know. I've been and it's a dangerous place to be."

Dutch quiets, rubbing his thumb over his index finger as Hosea takes another sip of his tea in the silence. "You've _been_?"

"Oh, don't act so surprised. We all heard about Glasner the moment we entered this city- how he moves between here and Denver because he runs them both. I thought I might see what all the fuss was about for myself."

"It might have been helpful to _tell me_."

Susan narrows his eyes at him but Bessie speaks before it can become a full argument. 

"Take our advice, Dutch; robbing Glasner would land us all in jail, or worse." a few of the adults around the table glance at Isaac, but he's still involved with drawing. "It wouldn't be worth the risk."

"What do you say we do?" John glances at Hosea when Dutch spits out his words, watching the oldest man's finger's tighten around the handle of his cup. 

"I say you use that big brain of yours and open your ears for once." Bessie shoots back and John covers his mouth before he can laugh. "This city is easy pickings if you know where to look, who to talk to, and when to act. You've got to plan it accordingly and make sure you're not seen. Let's not forget the amount of back alley criminals here that survive because they know the inner workings of this place better than the rest of us could dream. We ask around there and get some extra cash, then keep moving."

Dutch's throat bobs but he nods, glancing at Annabelle's arm before turning his head to look at Arthur. He looks at the young father straight on, but Morgan isn't paying any attention. He's drawing a herd of goats from memory and Isaac is staring at the page like it's magic, mouth parted. John sees love in Dutch's dark eyes, then a flash of anger before he looks into the depth of his cup and brings it to his lips. 

The man that brought them through the corridors arrives back accompanied by younger people who are dressed in aprons and pushing carts of food. Bowls of soup, noodles, steamed vegetables, and rice are placed in the center of the table before plates of baked buns and fried rolls are set down after them. Cups of brightly colored sauces follow and sticks are laid next to John's hand before the older man says something to Annabelle and then excuses himself and his employees. 

Arthur, Isaac, John and Bill stare at the food in wonder while the older members of the gang collect their sticks. The teen looks up and watches as Hosea starts teaching Arthur and Isaac how to hold them, pointing at Susan as she scoops some vegetables on to her plate with them. It takes a whole lot of practice and John earns himself a sore hand, but he eventually fills his plate and starts eating. Isaac is moved into his own chair that is stacked with books so he can fit at the table, and he splits a bun with his dad and marvels at the orange tinted food within. John receives his own and takes a bite out of it, his mouth watering and his eyes closing. Next, he scoops himself some soup and sips at it while Bill devastates his plate of chicken covered in deep red sauce, the two of them making a mess of themselves while the rest savor their food. 

Isaac collects one of those fried sticks and Annabelle informs him that some of the sauce might be too strong for him. Dutch kindly passes the cups over to the little boy, hoarding one for himself, and Isaac dips the end of his roll into the sauce gingerly. The table grows quiet as he tries it, Isaac stilling for a moment before his lips pull together and he squints. 

"Sour?" Bessie asks through her laughter and Isaac nods. 

Susan takes that cup away to try dipping a slice of chicken in as Isaac continues with taste testing, turning to John so suddenly he jumps and almost loses his grip on his pork-filled bun. He catches it before it lands on the floor despite the fact he would have eaten it anyways, and Isaac pushes a cup filled with amber sauce to him. His mouth is full of his roll so he can't speak very well, but he points at it with a tiny hand while wielding his food in the other, beckoning John to try it with his big eyes and freckled face.

Marston tears a piece off of his bun and dips it into the sauce carefully, watching as it melds around the baked bread and and separates like honey. Isaac watches him with those big eyes as John pops the bread in his mouth and he feels like his life has changed; it's sugary and sweet, but there's a kick to it and he finds himself squinting one of his eyes at the taste. It's strong and delicious, and he finds that Dutch has been hoarding the other cup for himself. 

Bill and John could eat forever if they wanted to. Bill had a big appetite and John never seemed to stop being hungry, so it played off well. When everyone else has cleared their plates and settled on digesting, the two of them are exchanging sauce cups and bowls of soup, making a mess of their faces and seats with smiles. John is finishing up his third plate of food when Hosea finishes cleaning his teeth and stands, Bessie moving with him. Arthur moves Isaac off of his lap as an invitation is given out to everyone to join them. 

"We're going to church." he says. 

John lowers his scoop of rice and gives the older couple an inquisitive look. Hosea watches him and extends the invitation with an air of comfort as Arthur cleans Isaac's face off and Bessie brings her coat back over her shoulders. 

"You know where you're going?" Dutch asks teasingly as he stretches his arms over his head so Annabelle can settle in closer. "I don't want you getting lost."

"Alright, city boy." Hosea flicks him in the back of the head as Susan stands. "Just because you're from Philadelphia doesn't mean you're better at navigating. We all know what you're like when you're commandeering a boat."

Dutch starts to argue but the rest of the room groans, laughter bubbling up in their chests as John quietly stands from the table and even wipes his mouth. 

"Really?" Bill asks. "You're a church boy now?"

"Shut up, Bill." John shoots back, storming towards the door where Bessie waited in the threshold. He doesn't look back as the group splits from Dutch, Annabelle, and Bill, the five of them following familiar corridors down stairs and to the streets below. 

There's a light drizzle coming from the grey clouds above, enough that Arthur tightens Isaac's coat before they step out and Hosea pulls his wife tighter against his side. John scuffs his boots against the ground as he watches the backs of the couple and Susan, Bessie joking with her friend and making Grimshaw laugh as Hosea guides them through city streets. They pass a cathedral and John makes a face, pushing his hands deeper in his pockets while he overhears Arthur making conversation with his son. 

Things simply weren't the same now that Isaac was there. He didn't wish for Arthur to abandon his boy, he only wished that Eliza had lived and that those men never broke in. Isaac and Arthur probably wished the same- as did that whole town further east. John just wanted his brother back, to have the same attention that he'd gotten before instead of always doing chores and watching Morgan fret over his kid. 

John looks over his shoulder in time to watch Arthur scooping Isaac up because the pothole was now a deep puddle and the little boy would probably be swimming if he fell in. Marston turns his head away and pushes his lip out, chewing the inside of his cheek as he follows the older people down the streets. When they do stop, he thinks they might have stumbled across one of those fancy libraries, but Hosea is searching for something and wringing his hands, and John recognizes symbols from the books Matthews had in his tent and the pages he wrote. 

"Here he is," Hosea turns at his wife's voice and looks bewildered at a man reflecting his expression. 


	6. Mishpachah

Hosea hasn't seen this man in several years. He's older and a bit worn around the edges, but the man's smile remains the same. Hosea smiles back and receives a warm hug from his father, patting him on the shoulder and peering at him in wonder. 

They held a lot of love for one another. His father had been an anchor for him the very few times he paid a visit to the cabin in the New York mountains. Hosea had always wished that his father would take him away, whisk him off somewhere that they could live happily, but the old man had other things to attend to. 

He knew that his father was part of something dark that resided in America's underbelly. He was a criminal too, and spent a good amount of time in prison for robberies and swindling. _Traveling the seven seas_ , his father had said once. Hosea only knew it was true when he spotted a tattoo on his wrist and recognized it from the sailors he'd gotten blind-drunk. 

"There's two of them?!" John asks and Hosea's father laughs heartily. 

Aside from Bessie, everyone looks on in confusion. But his wife is happy to meet her father-in-law finally and he watches with love as they joke and laugh with each other, the old man passing scarves to the women to cover their heads. His father was aware that they might have a larger number of people attending, and Hosea had told him he'd lost his own, so offers them yamaka's so they can enter the synagogue. Bessie wraps herself in the scarf and aids Susan in covering her head as Hosea watches his boys. Isaac fits it on his head thanks to Matthews Senior's help while Arthur argues the point with John until Marston gives in and lets Morgan help him with it. 

Hosea wasn't sure why John kept fighting Arthur at every turn; John had been expressing his jealousy towards Isaac since they crossed the state line. Snapping at Isaac, ignoring him, getting angry when Isaac was throwing a tantrum as a little kid way of dealing with grief. At the times Isaac felt good, he'd often pursue John because he was big and he was fun and he was practically his uncle. John had shown some kindness to Isaac over time, but he was still highly adverse to communicating with Arthur when the little boy was around. 

Arthur secures the yamaka on John's head and even tucks his hair behind his ear before turning back to face the synagogue. Hosea appreciates the fact that each of his boys have settled on being quiet for once, no doubt in awe of the architecture within the temple and simply resting and waiting. Hosea uses the time to pray alongside his father, a deep rush of serenity washing over him as he does so. He feels himself breathing better, like any illness he had was cured, and the tension in his back loosens slowly. There are moments where he feels elated for no true reason and he smiles to himself, lifting his head to look at the Star of David as his father finishes his own prayers. 

Their conversation's resume outside and Hosea watches his father send glances Isaac's way. Maybe in some way, deep in his mind, his father was regretting not being there for his son. Or any of his children, for that matter. The old man had admitted to being beyond promiscuous, a mischievous young man with a record and a reputation in brothels and towns with pretty ladies. Hosea had met one or two of his half-siblings, most of the time by accident, other times because someone had searched for him because they needed a place of belonging. 

Hosea hadn't been that. Not like he could have. Not until Bessie found him and lured the kindness out of his heart, putting the violence in his mind away. Then, their daughter, and when Magnolia left them by natural causes, Arthur came along not long afterwards. And then Hosea was a proper father with a son, and a place in his heart again to care for children. A menace he'd been, Hosea and Arthur both, but they'd grown from their blood fathers respectfully and in time enough to put up with John's own antics. 

Now Isaac was with them and was healing from loss like they all had, eyeing the oldest man with curiosity and receiving lollipops Hosea's father had hidden in his coat. Their trip goes around the city, but Hosea isn't paying much attention to the setting or the landscape; he's watching his father working with kids and it's an odd sensation in his chest. Jealousy? Maybe. But it's old and it's withering and it isn't strong enough for Hosea to really care. Love? Yes. He felt love at the image. His father was old and had mostly calmed from his rambunctious past, and now he spoke with his adopted grandkids easily and with what was now his great-grandson. And there's only pride in his hazel eyes. Pride as he looks at the young ones, pride as he looks at Susan, pride as he looks at Bessie who puts them all in their place, and pride when he looks at Hosea. 

If he had a flare for the dramatic, his father had it tenfold. 

He's lead them to the docks without realizing it, bags already stacked for him to take with himself to some coast far away. A place where he won't be touched by his past and where he'll spend the rest of his life relaxing and tanning on some beach. Hosea thinks it's the funniest thing he's heard in years and his father laughs along with him. 

But it's goodbye. A final prayer, a final meeting, and a final goodbye. 

Hosea hugs his father and watches him go up the plank to the boat, waving over the side once it actually disembarks. It leaves a trail of upturned water in its wake and Hosea realizes his yamaka is still on- that _all_ of their head coverings are still on. He removes it with gentle fingers and admires the white and blue thread for a few quiet moments before rubbing his thumb against it, feeling Bessie kiss his cheek. 

"Where's he goin'?" John asks as puts Arthur between himself and the water. 

"Florida." he says, then lets it hang in the air for a few seconds before they all find themselves laughing.

Bessie slips her arm through his as they follow the boys and he feels normal. The air is cold and smells of salt, but it's comforting, especially as he has his wife's warmth against him. Her hands are soft and he finds himself leaning into her as they walk, admiring her as she adjusts the scarf to sit around her collar instead of resting over her head. She's so incredibly gorgeous; dark hair that frames her face, soft eyes that watch their boys lovingly. Everything about her compliments her other features and Hosea feels himself falling in love all over again. 

Isaac climbs on the banister of the docks with Arthur's arm securing him so he's safe, both of them looking over the water to watch the ships come in. John sidles up beside his brother carefully, checking to make sure the banister wasn't going to suddenly collapse before he presses his knee against it's leg and joins them in watching the ships.

The Matthews couple take a spot within earshot and seeing distance of the boys, taking glances at them and watching as John starts to relax and that easy brotherly air comes back. He and Arthur start talking, and laughing, and lightly shoving each other in a way that Isaac was still safe and Hosea smiles. They were finally adjusting after weeks and it made his chest warm. 

Bessie's hand slides over his and she lifts his arm, draping it over her shoulder and laying her head in the crook of his neck. Hosea tightens his grip around her and kisses her hair softly, taking in the flowery smell of her hair oil and shutting his eyes. He can hear the boys laughing heartily, can feel Bessie's ring sliding over the skin of his knuckle and Hosea hums in response, pressing his face further into her hair. 

"What would happen to you and Dutch if I wasn't here?" she asks. 

He opens his eyes and looks down at her, but she's staring over the water. 

"That isn't something I care to think about." Hosea answers in truth. "It isn't even an idea I can comprehend."

Bessie's lips twist and he feels her grip tighten around his hand. 

"Truthfully, Hosea."

"I _am_ being truthful." Her arm comes around his middle and she pulls him closer. "I couldn't- I couldn't live without you. Even thinking about it-it- I can't."

She raises her head and looks at him. From his chin to his eyes, over his stark blond hair and deep brown gaze. Her stare lingers on his lips before her eyes flutter closed and she leans her head back in the crook of his neck.

"I can't believe you two were actually thinking about robbing Glasner." 

Hosea exhales and removes his hand from the steel banister, wrapping his other arm around her and completely enveloping her in his embrace. It guards her from the sudden gust of wind, though he knew his wife needed no such protection. Just love, _his_ love.

"It would have been a good payout. Besides, Dutch tends to make me a little more wild than I'd like to be." She laughs against him, her hands sliding up his sides to hold him close. It almost feels like she was about to say goodbye to him, too. "You're the only thing that keeps us centered most of the time."

"I'm also the only thing that keeps Susan and Annabelle from losing their minds."

He chuckles at that. 

"You know, I'm surprised Susan has stayed with us for so long. I would have been sure she'd cut us loose the moment Dutch dumped her for Annabelle."

Bessie shakes her head. "What makes you think that?"

"She can survive well on her own, and we're more a nuisance than a family to her."

"She loves us all the same. Loyalty is what keeps her around right now. That, and she's wild herself. She just won't admit to it like you would."

"Are you saying I'm better than she is?" he means it jokingly, but Bessie lifts her head with a look of admiration. 

"I'm saying you're a good person. That I love you for you, and that I'll stick by your side wherever that might lead. You're mine, Hosea, and I'll be damned if you ever rid of me."

He smiles softly, though his chest aches. "Being without you is my worse nightmare."

She kisses him gently, warmly and with compassion. Hosea leans into it, forgets they're on a public dock with strangers around them because her lips feel so soft and her love tastes so goddamn sweet. When she pulls away, he feels like a man dying in the desert, because all he wants is more. The way he drags her against his chest gets the point across, but she shoots him a look to calm him and gently slides the edge of her nail across his jaw. 

" _Later_ ," she whispers. "I see the others."

Hosea turns and follows her stare to the boys where Isaac is pointing out at the ocean and Arthur is tightening his grip around his son's middle. John has retracted from the side of the docks and is following the wooden and cobblestone pathway towards the figures approaching them, Dutch with his girl, Bill with... two strangers. 

Strangers of which are from opposite lives, it seems. One has a leather bag over his shoulder and short cut brown hair, glasses perched on his nose and a tired air about him, while the other is graying and hobbling. 

Bessie takes her husband's hand and guides him to Isaac and Arthur where the little boy perks up and starts telling them about his favorite boat on the water. Hosea glances at it briefly, seeing the big white sails and large wooden body. An old one, a beautiful ship from a past time that wavers like a ghost on the sea. But he doesn't have time to watch. 

Susan is at their side from her place gazing over the water and she's watching the strangers with the same incredulous look as John was. Two more in their pot of mischief, it seemed. A book keeper and the smelliest man Hosea had stumbled across. One smells like alcohol and the other of the cheapest cologne he could afford. 

"Mister Matthews," Dutch greets in that boisterous tone as he lays his hand over the thin man's shoulder. Bill grumbles and shifts past, ignoring their stares to give himself space. "This is Herr Strauss. Could you see if you could talk to him?"

Hosea glances at Strauss, sees the other man tighten the strap over his shoulder and press the book against his chest. 

" _Guten Tag_ ," he speaks and receives recognition at his words. He continues in German for the other man. "I see my friend has taken a liking to you."

The other's eyes brighten and the faintest of smiles crosses his face. "He has. I wasn't sure what to make of him, but he said that this country had good money hidden."

"Everyone likes money, Strauss." Hosea turns his head to his family and starts introducing them. When Strauss speaks their names in response, he knows this man understands English, just chooses not to. "I'll keep your secret for you."

"Secret?" he questions, then smiles. "I have no secret."

"Hm. I don't blame you if you don't want to participate in conversation with Dutch just yet, but don't hold on to it for too long; we value trust here."

Strauss' throat bobs and he nods, glancing at Isaac as the group commences forth. "When I met Dutch and his bonehead muscle, I didn't think this would be a gang that housed children."

Bessie is easily listening in to their comments but she hasn't aroused suspicion from the loanshark yet. Hosea feels her squeeze his hand and he swallows. 

"With any luck, he and his father won't have to live this life for much longer."

The newcomer simply hums. 

Hosea slips back into English to try and understand why Dutch collected the ratty old man who does nothing more than make snarky comments and irritate John. For his own amusement, it seemed. And the teen was quick to snap and bite, trying to shoot insults back but they tend to fail him easily. Annabelle eventually uses her free hand to try and calm John, petting his hair affectionately but he shrugs from her touch and decides to walk at the back of the formation. Arthur starts to slow in order to join him, but Bessie takes his hand and tugs to keep him going. Isaac is on his shoulders and looking over everybody, holding on to his father's ears with an intelligent glint in his eyes. He knew John was irritable, just like everyone else did, but there was something about his gaze that inclined Hosea to think that this kid was smarter than they yet gave him credit for. 

Camp counts as a mostly abandoned building resting between the poor and middle class neighborhoods. Here they have walls and a roof, one that leaks, but the raggedy old man resides in the mildew with a happy, drunken smile and nods off to sleep. Strauss lays out his blanket on the floor and positions himself in the corner so he can watch the rest of the room, removing papers from his bag and starting to organize them. Susan decides she's going to visit with John after he stomped his way to the rooftop and Arthur was busy teaching Isaac to read. So he finds his wife and kisses her sweetly, then feels himself being dragged from the hallway and into their room. 

It's a long but thin section of the house that they're residing in. He could tell by its structure that it had once been two separate rooms, but someone broke the wall in and others demolished the rest of it. Now it was theirs, briefly, and they had made it as comfortable as they could. Arthur and Isaac had the room across the corridor and Dutch had called ownership of the widest room in the house because he was their leader. It even had the bed still and Hosea couldn't help but feel jealous sometimes when he stepped in to talk over plans. But it wasn't exactly _quiet_. While he heard Isaac snoring across the hall, he could hear that bed squeaking directly above he and Bessie and it made them laugh in the quiet of the night. Once or twice they'd tapped on the roof in response and got the giggles when the creaking stopped short. 

Hosea rolls over in the late of night and presses a kiss to her shoulder. Her back is turned to him as she sleeps, both still wrapped only in that blanket they had and he feels her stir gently at his touch. His soft voice whispers words of love and she smiles tiredly before sliding back against him, taking his hand and using it as her pillow. Hosea keeps kissing softly against her shoulders and her neck, over and over until she's back to sleep. 

Getting his hand back is hard work, but she still slumbers once he shakes feeling back into it and stands gingerly from their bedrolls. He slides his legs into his pants and pushes his boots on, then slings his shirt over his shoulders and steps out into the dark hallway. Dutch's shoulders are blocking the moonlight as he smokes through the broken window, his head turning to look at Hosea. 

"Mornin'." he friend says quietly as he joins him. 

"Is it morning?" he asks as he yawns, declining the cigarette held out to him. Dutch nods as he takes another drag of his cigarette, goosebumps popping up on his chest and shoulders. His fingers scratch at his chest hair as he flicks ash out of the window. 

It's still dark out, stars attempting to shine through the pollution in the sky. Hosea wished they were further out west where he could point out constellations with his sons and teach Isaac their names. A place where they could rest and relax, all in awe of the great big thing that was the universe. 

"I think the Austrian has only joined for protection," Dutch says.

The cigarette comes back between his lips as Hosea snorts. "I could have told you that. At least he offers _some_ kind of work in return."

The younger man's lips curl into a small smile while the conman leans against the wall, shivering at the cold air that wafts through the window. 

"I think it'll work well. He gives people money, then if they don't pay up, we just send Arthur and Bill out to collect."

"Arthur won't do that." he says and scratches at his stubble. His friend narrows his eyes and glares at him in the moonlight. "Don't give me that look. He's got to take care of his son."

"He can take a _break_." Dutch answers, smoke coating his words. "He did it today when he went with Bill instead of watching Isaac. It'll work fine- Arthur knows what he's doing. He's survived this long. Anyways, Isaac'll get bigger, and taller, and older, and he'll start getting irritated in that way teenagers do. Then it'll be good when Arthur's gone for a while."

Hosea's face twists like he's tasted something sour before it melts into disbelief. 

"All of your intelligence, and you haven't caught on yet?" the younger man sends him a confused glare and Hosea crosses his arms over his chest. "We're not going west for work, Dutch. We're going west so Arthur can get out of this life- out of killing for money."

A pause in Dutch's eyes. Then, as if something snaps, his eyebrows furrow and he looks away from Hosea. He stares into the overgrown backyard where branches reached out like bony fingers and the bodies of trees twisted like dancing devils. 

"We ain't killers..."

"A gang is no place to raise a child. You know that. It's why Eliza never took the offer to stay with us."

"There's no-one in the west for him!" Dutch's voice raises and Hosea pushes off the wall, gesturing for him to quiet down. The younger man swallows as that vein starts coming out on his forehead, whispering to Hosea. "Who's in the west?"

"It's not about _who_ is there to greet him, but _what_. Freedom, mostly."

"This country _is_ free-"

"This country is past it's time of outlaws and killers, Dutch. 1887, and we're still trying to hold on."

"It ain't over, Hosea-" he sighs softly as he leans back against the wall. "-I'm just tryin' to survive."

He nods, eyes cast to the baseboards. "I know."

"So why can't he have freedom here? With us and in the gang?"

"Because he's fulfilling Eliza's final wish by going west with Isaac. And after that, whatever decision he makes, I expect you to support it." Dutch opens his mouth, but Hosea cuts him off. "Neither he nor Eliza ever wanted Isaac to become an outlaw or live like us. They wanted him to have a normal life, to be educated in a school instead of a tent. To grow up without money on his head or people pursuing him. This country- it's big. We run far enough and we'll disappear. But there's going to be a time when running won't be enough, when this country won't be large enough because our hunters are going to find us. I don't want Arthur to be caught and I don't want Isaac to suffer the same childhood both of our boys have. Isaac deserves to watch Arthur grow old, just as Arthur deserves to watch his son grow up."

Dutch watches him under the moonlight, those big brown eyes dark and swimming. He lifts his cigarette to his lip and the end glows as he casts his gaze out of the window, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he scoffs and puts his smoke out on the wall. He burns a hole alongside the peeling paint and lets the cigarette drop to the floor.

There's something more he wants to say, but it seems Dutch has settled on strangled silence. Angered, he turns from Hosea and stalks back up the croaking stairs, making no effort to try and be quiet.

=

One of the railway lines could take them through the center states and out west. Arthur didn't know where exactly he'd like to stop, but once they got there, he said he'd figure it out. Hosea could tell that the anxiety was rising in his son by the way he moved, how he stared blankly at the back of the train seats when Isaac was sleeping or occupied. They move trains a couple times, stop off in a town where Hosea cheats at poker to buy them more tickets, then Dutch is deciding that they're going to be raiding a rich man's house just over the border from Colorado.

"Great." Hosea's voice is laced with sarcasm as their horses graze in their freedom from the train. "Let's drag the law with us after coming this far to get Arthur and Isaac west."

"Would you have some faith?" Dutch drops a map in front of Hosea and unfurls it. "This is a good plan."

"Like Laramie?"

The younger man glares at him before lifting a ringed finger to the map. "Laramie was different, Hosea."

"We were supposed to be laying low then, too."

"Well, I'd apologize, but given we got a good payout after that, I can't see much why you're complaining!"

"Because John got shot that time, Dutch!" he raises his voice for the first time in months, but his friend is un-moving. His first almost lethal shot that none of them had been expecting, mostly because Dutch had shrouded him from fighting so much. He had been protected by Dutch since he joined and when he was struck by a stray bullet, knocking him on the ass so hard he bashed his head against the ground and gave himself a concussion. He'd been smaller then, thinner and more wiry. 

He'd been out for weeks and they'd all taken turns caring for him while Susan dug into Dutch in ways he'd never experienced. That had forced them to lie low, mainly because _none_ of them would meet his eyes for months. Aside from John, who shrugged it off once he was good enough to sit up and quietly joined in on his lessons because he felt bad.

"I intend on planning this one out better, Hosea." Dutch takes the seat across from him as the older man scrubs his hand over his cheek. "He's got a whole lot of property, and it's said he has enough money in his house to fill a bank."

Hosea sighs, resting his chin on his hand. "Who is he?"

"He's a friend of J.P Morgan: his name is Leviticus."

"And you think he'll let bums like us into his house?" he had to admit, the idea of robbing a man as rich as this Leviticus appealed to him. "He'll have us shot before we can get to his doorstep."

"That's why I intend on handing this ordeal to you and Bessie. You _are_ the con couple, aren't you?"

"Oh," Hosea feels amusement bubble in his chest as Dutch turns the map around and taps his finger against the map. "So I'm going to do all of the work?"

"No." Dutch grins. "I already had Annabelle survey the property and Susan is in the process of getting in. Leviticus is a young, unmarried man. Annabelle says he'll be quicker to rob from if he had a lady-like distraction."

"I won't use Bessie as _bait_ , Dutch." he looks over the map, at the notes about security and the floors of the home. It looks to give full details about the house and the property, haste sketches in the corner that describe the rooms where security bunked. "His security lives with him? How big can he be?"

"That's what I was hoping you could get more information about. His last name is Cornwall."

Oil, steel, silver and gold. Now that Hosea had the man's last name, he knew that Cornwall owned a bit of everything from here to London. He feels himself retracting from the map with aversion, staring down at the paper with mistrust. No matter how much planning they did, there was still that slim chance that they could fail, and this close from giving Arthur and Isaac freedom kept him from wanting to act. 

"I already know of him." Hosea mutters, knowing now that Dutch avoided from giving the last name because Matthews no longer wanted to be involved. "It's a stupid idea."

Dutch takes his hand in his own, dragging it close. "I already have Susan laying the seeds, my friend! She's making up a story about you and Bessie, one that Annabelle and I already know by heart."

Hosea pulls his hand out of the other man's grip and sees the younger outlaw hesitate before settling himself in his seat once more. "And what is the lie now?"

"You and Bessie come from old money located in Germany. It's too far for Cornwall to know of it, and good enough he'll believe you. Spit some lies about what you do now, who you are, and he should believe you easy enough."

" _Should_."

Dutch sighs and takes Hosea's hand again, squeezing it. "Please, Hosea. Just trust me."

It isn't Leviticus Cornwall's home, it's some other oil baron who drinks himself silly and likes the look of women. There are darker rumors following him, hushed words following his name by people who don't dare be too loud in case his evil acts are pressed upon them. Hosea feels his stomach churn at these stories, thinks of the innocents that this oil baron has hurt and he finds himself agreeing to Dutch's plan because he wants to wreak revenge. 

"Revenge is a fool's game." Bessie whispers to him in the dark. They're bundled up on a cliff together watching the lamp lights in the town below. "I believe it most of the time."

Hosea knows what was inflicted upon Bessie in the times her father wasn't there to protect her. He also knows of the other terrible experiences his son's went through when they were children. 

"Would it be right of me to be be the one to kill him?" he whispers in response.

Silence. A thoughtful air.

"Let me do it." she answers. "It'd be cleaner."

"I doubt that." Bessie had her own rage. Rage from losing her mother, rage at people who touched her, rage at the world for what it had inflicted upon the people she loved. He'd seen her slaughter people like they were vicious animals and most of the time, they deserved it. Very few times had he felt that she was in the wrong, or that she shouldn't have done something. "He doesn't deserve a clean death."

"Then we do it together." he turns his eyes to her. "To hell with Dutch's plan; we take who's willing from camp and kill that fucker."


	7. Koning Van Outlaw

Isaac was starting to get along just fine with his new living conditions. He said it was odd, but fun, reminding him of camping with his dad before Eliza had passed away. Her death sat heavy in both of their hearts, but Isaac and Arthur were coping. The little boy's tantrums had started to dwindle but his nightmares remained and there were a few times Isaac had cuddled his dad after sneaking up on him and finding him crying. 

Tonight was one of those heavy nights again. Isaac had been sobbing and screaming whenever someone tried to touch him, crying himself to sleep in the dirt. Arthur had scooped him up gingerly and carried him back to their tent under Dutch's dark gaze, laying the boy in the bed and tucking him in. Arthur's cot became Isaac's and so did his pillow, but he wouldn't complain; Bessie had been quick to lend him extra blankets and Hosea was fast to make him another pillow. They'd gotten a new bedroll for him when back in the city and it was comfortable, less torn and ripped than the one Dutch got him when he was a teenager. 

There was only six of them here: the Morgans, Strauss, Uncle, Dutch and Annabelle. Hosea had said the rest of them were going out to steal from that oil baron, but he heard the whispers the last few nights. The way Bessie planned the routes into the property and out again, how she instructed Bill on where to leave the get away wagon. Susan, who promised that she'd run distraction and steal the fine horses from the stable, kicking up enough of a fuss to draw the security out. Hosea, who remained silent but stood as a looming shadow across the tent flaps. John had volunteered himself to go, complaining enough for Hosea to decide that he could join them.

" _But you won't get blood on your hands_." the older man had whispered. " _Not if I can help it_."

Arthur wasn't included. By the looks he got from the others, he was sure he didn't want to be. Not only were they planning on murdering that oil baron, they were going to do so without Dutch's approval or permission. They threw his plans to the wind without him knowing and planned it all in secret because they knew he'd object, because they knew he wanted to keep that sleazy oil man alive in order to pull more money out of him. If Arthur involved himself in their plan, lying to Dutch about where he was going to be, he was sure he'd be on the receiving end of a whole lot of shouting for the next few weeks. 

Susan and John had said they were going to go fishing together at a fine stream a few hours from camp. They'd convinced Dutch to think nothing of it by explanation that John needed to think and breathe, and everyone knew he listened best to Susan. So they'd left two days ago for the excursion. Bill left the next day under the guise that he wanted a drink, climbing on his horse in that angry way of his and riding out while Hosea pretended to shout at him. The Matthews couple were fine actors because they both pretended to stew in their fake rage at Bill until Hosea stormed up to Dutch and said he was going to find Williamson. Dutch had nodded, offered Arthur's aid which he stepped up to, but Hosea shook his head as Bessie gathered ammunition. 

" _Who know's what Bill might be getting up to?_ " Bessie had said as she handed Hosea his rifle. " _We shouldn't put Arthur in danger like that. Not while Isaac's here_."

They had left yesterday evening and Dutch was none the wiser. 

The idea of that left Arthur almost afraid. Big, bad, smart Dutch van der Linde couldn't even tell when his own gang members were plotting behind his back. Morgan knew it was for the best, he knew what that oil baron was full of shit and deserved the worst death, but he also had the nagging feeling that Dutch should have been involved. There would have been a lot more arguments and tense air, silent treatment when Dutch was defeated but didn't want to admit it, then someone would storm out of camp for some fresh air and they'd cause hell somewhere with law. 

Maybe it was better like this.

In fact, Arthur knew it was. 

He knew it was despite the fact Dutch had complained of headaches while Isaac cried and Arthur spent his time trying to calm his son. Despite the fact Isaac had hit at both he and Annabelle when they tried helping him. Despite the fact that Dutch had shouted at Isaac like he was an adult while he was crying. It made Arthur's blood boil to recall it, but he knew Dutch had no experience with kids. There's some kind of gratefulness in Arthur's chest at the idea that Dutch's bastards had no idea who their father was. 

Arthur checks on Isaac with tired eyes, finding him curled up peacefully with his bear in his arms. The blanket is warm around him, and though he twitches in his sleep fitfully a few times, nothing more happens. Arthur hears low talking from across camp and shuts his eyes, resting his chin against his chest. 

"I _am_ grateful!" Annabelle argues. A breathy noise follows it before Dutch speaks.

"I got you out of that opium den, and this is how you repay me?"

Arthur can't tell if this is some kind of game for Dutch, or real anger. He ignores the following noises as best he can, glancing at Isaac to make sure he's asleep, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He had a lot of memories of pulling his collar up over his ears to block out Dutch and his ladies, and it seemed like it wasn't going to die down anytime soon. 

The couple are heavily preoccupied when Arthur senses movement. He lifts his head and grabs his gun, peeking out of the tent flaps. He sees no horses, nothing he recognizes as he slips out silently and looks over the camp. Nothing but the dwindling ash of the fire that Uncle's gotten drunk by and Strauss' candle flickering out. Strauss slept on heavily as Uncle giggled to himself by the fire, rolling his bottle around and taking no notice of Arthur. His drunk eyes turn to the young outlaw but he only laughs harder, pointing at Morgan like he's a comedy act. 

Arthur purses his lips and turns his attention back to the dark, his senses on high alert. Only when he's sure that nothing is going to attack them does he slip back towards his son, stepping inside to find a figure beside Isaac in the dark.

Bessie stops him from pulling the trigger and in the dim moonlight, he sees her putting her finger to her lips. She guides him to his chair and removes the gun from his hands, laying the repeater against the pole of the tent. 

"What-?" Arthur whispers to her in the dark. 

She smells like sulfur and smoke. Like a fire has been brought into his tent. Arthur's nose flares at it as she removes the bag on her shoulder and drops it in his lap. He looks down at it in confusion while Bessie pulls off her bandana and wets it, wiping her face. 

"Open it." she answers him. 

His fingers touch the buttons and he undoes them in silence, hearing Uncle's chuckling die down by the fire. Arthur's eyes strain to see in the dark, trying to use the barest bits of moonlight to see into the depths of the bag. Finally he reaches his hand in to feel paper and metal. Arthur furrows his brows and removes them as he jokes to Bessie:

"Got me some school things?" he asks, but his mind goes fuzzy when he sees what's in his hands. 

Stacks of dollar bills and jars of gold that were cushioned by cloth. There are jewels in here too, sacks of jewels and little rings with shiny rocks in the center. Necklaces coated in gold and silver, fine metals framing rubies and emeralds. Arthur almost drops an encrusted watch on the ground as his fingers touch the ends of crafted diamonds. 

"What the fuck?" he whispers.

Bessie reaches forth and wraps her hand over his own, meeting his bright blue eyes. 

"The cash goes to you." she tells him. "You take it west with you and Isaac and you use it to buy yourself something good, understand? Buy your lives together."

He feels incredibly confused and overwhelmed with love at the same time. Arthur drops the watch back in the bag and thrusts it over to her, that stack of bills sitting heavy in his lap. Bessie takes it from him and starts organizing the contents, leaving Arthur with the incredible amount of cash and taking the jewels with herself. She stands to vanish again and kisses his cheek, something wet remaining on his nose when she steps away. 

As Bessie melds into the dark, he wipes it off and finds it to be some stranger's blood.

=

Arthur doesn't know what to do with this money. He keeps glancing at it like it's some horrible secret and, in some ways, it is. Money Dutch never saw and had no knowledge about, income that he would have "split" for the gang. Stacks of green bills that would have went into decorating his tent while the rest of them used their money for food and supplies.

He feels like he's going to get caught any moment. Like the money Bessie gave him wasn't perfectly hidden in plain sight, under his clothing and a layer of books in his wooden chest. As if the chest hadn't become a chair for anyone who came to visit Arthur or Isaac in their tent, laughing with the Morgan boys while they talked. 

"How you doin', son?" Dutch had asked between the open flaps of the tent. 

Arthur had lowered his book and nodded, realizing how soft he must have looked. A teddy bear on one side and a stack of kid's clothes on the other, his hands with some leather bound book he'd bought while with Isaac.

"I'm alright." he answers. 

The gang leader nods and gestures to the floor of the tent as some silent ask for permission to enter. Arthur grants it with a nod and his breath lodges in his throat when Dutch saunters in and directly to the chest. But he just stops to admire the photos Arthur has hanging up inside, the one of his father's mugshot and the professional one taken only a few years ago when Arthur turned nineteen. 

Dutch taps the one of the three of them with a proud smile before pushing the chest to the chair. Arthur hopes he's an alright actor because he can feel chills going down his spine. But Dutch just seats himself and uses the top of the chest as a footrest, spurs jingling as he does so. 

"I have some _unfortunate_ news," he says as his ringed fingers glide over his black curls. "The oil baron's house was burned down."

Bessie, smelling of smoke and sulfur, wiping her face of blood and soot. 

"That _is_ real unfortunate." Arthur comments as he sets his book aside calmly. "What are we gonna do now?"

Dutch shakes his head with that expression of lost disappointment, letting a long groan out of his throat as he lets his eyes close. "I don't know. There are banks, and they'd have enough money to get us all train tickets."

"Can't we just keep riding?" 

Arthur knows the moment Dutch's eyes snap open that he's said something wrong. He'd slowly shifted from worrying about robberies to caring more for his son, for wanting to be a good and permanent fixture in Isaac's life. He cared less for the idea of killing to appease some dark clad man and cared more for the brightest light in his life.

"We need money, Arthur." he nods his head to the other's words, but he doesn't believe them. "What happened to you?"

His brows pull together at the other man's accusing tone. "Happened to me?"

"Yeah. It's like you've forgotten the gang is here." 

He lets out a brash laugh and that angers Dutch to the point that the ugly vein comes out of his head. "I've been focusing on Isaac, Dutch. He's my son."

"I get that. But you know the rules, boy: we all need to pull our weight."

"Well, I don't see Uncle doin' much of that." _Or you, for that matter_. He almost says that final piece, but he couldn't imagine the kind of hell Dutch would give him if he let it out. 

"Uncle's old and worn out. He does enough. I need to see more from you, son-"

"You want Isaac to start pulling his weight, too?" he hates Dutch's tone. It's accusing, it's rude, and he talks in a way that tries guilting Arthur into being ashamed for his actions. "Want him to pick up a gun and join you in a robbery?"

Dutch's eyes have blown wide and his body is stiff with tension. Arthur keeps his own lids wide open as he stares onwards, realizing he's leaned closer and squared himself in the way he'd do to intimidate people into money or silence. The older man holds his glare steady, but neither outlaw seems like he's going to let off soon. Arthur almost thinks that Dutch is going to snap, but the gang leader's lips turn upwards and he snorts out a laugh, pushing himself to stand. 

"You've gotten funny, Arthur." his tone has changed into something more malicious. He waits for an insult, something he'd expect from his father, but Dutch only glances over him as his glare softens to a hard stare.

"I'm the camp jester." he shoots back. 

Dutch's voice softens as he turns his back on Arthur and steps out of the tent. "I surely hope you haven't forgotten who saved you, son. It'd be a hell of a thing for you to do."

Arthur just tightens his grip around the side of his cot as Dutch stalks away. 

=

"You did the right thing, Arthur." Hosea says. 

They're fishing in that fine bit of water Susan had mentioned, watching Isaac as he draws with Bessie on the shore. Those two are sitting on a dusty blanket while Arthur and Hosea stand quite a ways away, but still safe enough if they needed to act.

"What'chu talkin' about?" he asks as he feels a tug on the line.

"Standing up to Dutch about your role. He's gotten too comfortable letting everyone else do the work."

Arthur snorts and starts reeling in his fish. "Right. Maybe he wouldn't have if you didn't sneak off to that oil baron."

The air around them cools and Arthur feels like Hosea himself was responsible for it. 

"I won't ever talk to you like Dutch does," he speaks in a gentle tone. "Lord knows I detest it myself. But we didn't go to that oil baron for his money, Arthur. We went because... because we needed to, in some sick way. The money was a plus, but I don't plan on it being for us- just for you and-and Isaac."

He removes the fish from the hook and drops it in the bucket between them. 

"I think you're a fool, Hosea." he says affectionately. 

He can hear the smile in the other man's voice as he responds. "I know."

"What about when Dutch finds out? I can't believe Bill ain't talked yet."

"Bill doesn't know about the money. He made a fuss the night we killed that baron, talking about how he wasn't going to have any use for the jewels in the safe. All Bill knows is that we slaughtered a pig and that Dutch doesn't need to know about it." Hosea inhales. "And about Dutch... I don't know. Not yet, anyways. It'll take the law some time to clean that rubble, if they ever do, but they're also too afraid to stay around to dig."

Arthur grunts. "Yeah, I heard 'bout how viciously that oil man was killed. Properly gutted and hurt, weren't he? Left on his own damn doorstep."

"That's what the papers say."

"So who did that bit?"

"All of us." Hosea has nothing to hide. Arthur knows he's a killer, he's seen it first hand. "The papers just haven't included the rest of the lacerations."

" 'cause his body's too burnt from the fire."

"I didn't tell you the hell that man's responsible for." he hasn't heard Hosea's voice so icy in months. "And I don't want to. It's not something any person should hear or experience, let alone _children_."

Arthur feels his gut twist at the idea of it and he swallows heavily. 

"That's alright..." he answers, throwing his line back out. "I have a strange feeling the papers will be disclosing his crimes sure enough."

"We _would_ have included you." 

_If Isaac wasn't here_.

Those were four words Arthur had been hearing out of Dutch's mouth since the novelty of a new member of camp wore off. 

"Am I gettin' soft, Hosea?" he finds himself asking. Bill had always made comments, but Dutch had gotten insufferable since he first overheard Arthur telling his son bedtime stories and singing him to sleep. 

"You're..." Hosea grumbles. "No. Well, yes, but it's good. You're soft with Isaac, and that's what he needs. He _is_ only a child."

"I know, but-" he pulls to drag his fish in too soon and he loses it. "-but don't you think I should act tougher in camp? Least around the men?"

"No. Uncle and Strauss know your reputation as a butcher. You don't need to prove anything to them simply because Isaac likes it when you toss him in the air." Strauss was slippery, but had understandings of the American criminal underground, and Uncle was the eighth wonder of the world. He had a past shrouded in mystery and great stories to tell around the fire. He could play a banjo like nobody's business and was good with a gun. Uncle had some grasp on knives and tricks with them, but his hands cramped up too fast so he couldn't teach John. "Unless you'd enjoy going out on a job."

Maybe just once. But would that be for him, or for Dutch?

"You said I should be loyal to what matters..." Hosea draws his fish out of the water and drops it in the bucket, making no action to bait the hook. "I love Isaac, but I love Dutch, too. He saved me."

"I know he did. But you've got to understand where your priorities lie, Arthur... Your situation and relationship with Dutch reminds me of mine with my mother, in some ways. She might be ill in the head and a few decades older than Dutch, but I see the reflections. The way he compliments you into doing something good and when you aren't up to his standards, it's little jabs and jeers until you do what he wants. He's done the same to me, to John. Bill's like a plaything, I think."

Arthur lowers his eyes to the rippling water and sighs. 

"You ain't never been so crass, Hosea."

"I have. But you've usually been away from camp on an almost fatal job, or suffering from an injury in your cot, too drugged to know up from down."

That made a lot of sense. Arthur rarely heard them argue because he was usually put between Dutch and danger. 

"I ain't enjoyin' my thoughts." he admits quietly, and that has the older man turning to him fully. "It's like... bein' around Isaac has opened me up to things I ain't sure I wanna understand." Hosea remains silent and Arthur glances at him, finding the older man's face shifting in that way that presented he was all ears. He sighs again, loud and dramatic. "I'm grateful to Dutch, but the way he's been talkin' to me..."

Matthews hums and nods his head, mouth clicking as he parts his lips. "I understand. A few people in the past have cut and run because they couldn't bare listening to Dutch anymore. You were young when you met him, though, and we've given you a lot. John, too."

"What about you?"

"How do you mean?"

Arthur gestures to him with his elbow. "I mean, you weren't young when you met him. Not as young as John and I."

"... no, I wasn't. But I did think his words sounded pretty and I saw a lot of power in him. Potential, too. He let me sit at a fire with him after we laughed off our botched robberies and I saw he had the dreams of the world in his eyes. At a time when I was struggling with my thoughts and my actions, he said all of the right things. He's crazy, and I'm a fool, so it seemed to be an easy partnership. Similar to you, I didn't realize until later how he worked. Not until I felt comfortable enough bringing Bessie into camp to live with us, and Dutch's charm just bounced off of her." Hosea wheezes out a laugh, but it dwindles and his eyes become downcast. "She showed me that the manipulation we see him use on our victims tend to be the same way he talks to us. Only, he treats us with a bit more respect and gives us his pride when we've appeased him."

"You say it like he's evil."

Hosea chuckles again as Arthur collects his next fish. "I suppose I've been reading too many storybooks with Isaac."

 _Isaac_.

Arthur looks past the older man and sees his son learning to skip stones with Bessie. He feels his heart warm and then it drops away, cold air brushing over him like he's stepped into frigid water. 

"I owe Dutch my life."

"You don't. You don't, it doesn't matter what he says."

"I do, Hosea. John and I, we-"

"You and John have paid him back with infinite loyalty and all that does is send power to his head," Hosea taps the side of his skull fiercely. "If you back out of getting out now-"

"I'm not!" Arthur argues, and instead of getting a glare or blank look like he would from Dutch, he gets relief. "I'm not, I'm... I've listened to Dutch for so long, and everything he says points to loyalty, and trust, and he can tell I ain't been myself-"

"Arthur, you _have_ been yourself. The only difference is, it isn't the killer Dutch wants you to be."

=

Dutch doesn't know about the money while they ride west, away from Colorado and the smoking remnants of the oil baron's house. The papers have started covering the dead man's crimes, shocking the blind nation as adults who used to be kids come forth about what was inflicted upon them. 

Arthur rides with Isaac on their big horse and his son manages to find a way to nap. Isaac's been trying to absorb everything these last few months, staring with big eyes and touching anything that wasn't deadly or would make him ill. He'd tried fresh honey and earned a free bottle from the beekeeper that thought him to be cute, then got fresh, warm milk from a cow when John had been in an amused state of mind. That left them laughing like children until they were herded up to move again. 

Now he jostled in the saddle despite the fact Arthur was doing all that he could to keep him comfy. A horse's back was no place to sleep, but Isaac always found easy comfort when his dad was around. Morgan pulls his jacket over to cover Isaac, letting his little nose stick out while the rain starts to come down. It isn't long before Isaac is waking up at the sound of thunder, dragging the coat further around himself as lightning flashes in the sky. Soon, they're all soaked and trying to calm their horses, half-hearing Dutch's orders over the sound of trees collapsing and water rushing down from the skies. 

They're in dangerous nature out here. A vacant trail that would take them out of Colorado and into the Utah territory had left them somewhat lost and scrapping over their maps, but now they were stuck in canyons with the rain and trying to find shelter. Uncle's the one to find it, and praise be, it can fit them all. The horses are tied up and they all take cover in the natural caves, Hosea starting quick on a fire to warm everyone. 

John gets them food as Bill takes watch, brooding in the dark and in the rain so he can keep his eyes on the open area in front of the cave. Susan and Annabelle get to gathering the blankets and drying them as Bessie feeds the horses outside in an attempt to soothe them. Hosea asks for her to get back in so she won't get sick while Arthur cuddles Isaac to try and warm him. 

"Ain't he been coddled enough?"

Arthur ignores Dutch's comment because he know it wasn't supposed to be heard. 

For the night, the rain simply keeps going. Battering the edges of the cave and eventually lightning strikes so close that it temporarily blinds Arthur like he'd been staring straight at the sun. He finds it funny, joking with Isaac who's almost panicking. Bessie is holding him now, talking to him sweetly and keeping him safe from the rain. The others are resting and Hosea is getting off of watch, hesitantly passing the rifle to Arthur. It's the middle of the night as he takes up position not far from the mouth of the cave, under the slight break of the rock where he can see the dim fire and both lanes of the canyon. 

He thinks he sees movement atop the next ridge and he turns his head partially, watching the brush above shake. His finger cocks the rifle slowly when he sees more movement, shadows silently passing dozens of feet above the top of the cave. Figures start moving across that swinging bridge and Arthur takes aim, about to shout before a bullet takes a piece out of the rock next to him. 

Everyone in the cave moves for their guns, Arthur briefly spotting John jumping to cover Isaac and Bessie as a bullet hits Morgan's thigh. He grunts and falls, splashing into the mud while boots come running at him. They come from the direction of the cave and he looks up to see the familiar etching in them, the brown boots Bessie had bought for Hosea on his last birthday. His arms are coming around Arthur and his lithe frame drags the bigger outlaw to safety, both collapsing behind a boulder. Hosea kneels in the mud and takes aim, shouting for Bill to cover their backs. He lets a few rounds out of his gun as Arthur starts applying pressure to his wound, gritting his teeth and trying to collect his thoughts through the pain and the noise. 

When he sees Bill safely tucked away and shooting down the separate side of the canyon, he inhales and grabs the bandana from around his throat. He tugs it over his head and loses his hat in the process, hair soaked in seconds while he pulls the knot loose with his teeth. Arthur unfurls it and lets go of his wound long enough to tie the bandana around the top of his leg, above the bullet hole where blood still seeped through. He tugs it with shivering hands and feels someone touch him, looking up to find Hosea discarding the gunfight to tie it for him. The bandana is pulled harshly and Arthur lets out a noise of pain, hearing an apology from the older man. But the tourniquet is done right, mainly because Hosea had so much experience of this during the war. 

"Can you shoot?" 

Arthur nods. "Always."

Hosea hands him his gun and darts out into the rain and the gunfire for the rifle Arthur had dropped. They exchange weapons once the older man is back by his side, Arthur aiming at the rocks above him to shoot while Hosea reloads. Bill is keeping them safe from the east side of the canyon while Dutch and Annabelle fire from the mouth of the cave. He can't see Susan, but he can see John standing strong in the depths of the cave with Isaac safely behind him. Then, he realizes, he can't see Bessie either. 

He won't speak on that thought right now, not while bodies are dropping and Bill is starting to struggle with the oncoming waves of horsemen. Arthur recognizes the flashes of green and glances at the hoods over their heads before wriggling away from Hosea and through the mud. Uncle joins him with his dirty pistol and helps Arthur sit up before they fire at the riders, horses galloping past in fear and adrenaline. None of the O'Driscoll's reach them alive; the bodies drop into the mud and the rocks and some of their ankles get wound into the stirrups. Arthur reloads and watches one of them get dragged through the mess by his foot, arms above his head while the animal whinnies and runs for it's life. 

Bodies continue dropping from the tops of the canyons and one lands just ahead of Uncle and Arthur, but it's not because of a bullet hole. Arthur sees the familiar mark of a knife and another body falls after that, not far from the first one. Either Susan or Bessie were up on the canyon, most literally cutting O'Driscoll's down. 

He hears Isaac scream and whips his head to the side, finding one of the O'Driscoll's has found his way through the mess and is reaching for Annabelle. It must look like a great big demon coming for the little boy, and soon all Arthur can hear is the pulse in his skull. His adrenaline and his pain centers behind his eyes and a dull ache starts before the world yellows, time almost stopping as he starts shooting. Before he can lodge a bullet in the O'Driscoll, John has already fired his own gun, blocking Isaac's view with his skinny frame. 


	8. Let the Righteous Fall

Arthur riddles men on the top of the canyon with his bullets until his head is pounding and the yellow fades away. He notices that the O'Driscoll gunfire has turned away, firing _towards_ the top of the canyon instead of into it. A few popping shots accompany it and Annabelle hurries out of the cave and into the rain, stealing one of the startled horses and riding from the canyon to the west. Hosea steps out from behind the rocks after realizing no shots follow Annabelle, turning to Arthur while Uncle struggles to help him stand. 

Both older men put his arms over their shoulders and help him back to the mouth of the cave, Dutch taking him by his waist and guiding him inside. Arthur hobbles to John and Isaac and reaches out to John, gripping the shoulder of his patched jacket.

" _Thank you_ ," he whispers under his pained breath. John gives him a wide eyed look before nodding and stepping out of the way. 

He drops to his good side and grabs Isaac, dragging him into his chest. The little boy has stopped crying and is instead holding Arthur's head to his neck, running little hands through his damp hair. Arthur inhales shakily and cups his hand around the back of his son's head, fingers brushing his thick curls. Isaac doesn't look too scared, just startled, like he'd seen enough violence to the point this was subpar. 

Arthur doesn't ask to know the details of what Isaac saw the night Eliza was shot. 

Strauss starts tending to the wound in Arthur's thigh as Hosea paces the cavern, rain still throwing itself down outside. John hunches near them, takes Isaac away from having to see all the blood, and Arthur can hear the older men's voices echoing over the cave's mouth. 

"Annabelle shouldn't have _run off_ like that." Dutch says, shadows across the roof of the cave showing Arthur that the gang leader was reloading his gun. A few bullets fall and he hears the bigger man curse, then sees Hosea's shadow reaching out in the firelight. 

"I'll go and get them." he promises, his shadow being plucked from the light. Arthur looks past Uncle, who's holding Strauss' tools, and sees Hosea's coat billowing in the wind before he disappears around the corner. 

Arthur bites a thin stick to keep himself from making too much noise. Strauss never mentioned he had any education in surgery, but it seemed that they'd found his little secret power. He removes the bullet from Arthur's thigh along with any shrapnel and then douses the wound with medicine before patting it dry and and sighing. 

"I need thread." he says, that accent rolling out from between thin lips. "And a needle."

Arthur could have stitched his own leg, but Strauss pushes his hands away and does it through the neat square he'd cut in Arthur's pants, stitching the long cut beneath the bullet hole before plugging the wound and wrapping it in what bandaging they had left. He asks if anyone else is injured, but other than the cut from shrapnel Hosea suffered across the bone of his wrist, they were fine. Hosea wasn't even there to be treated, so Strauss just passes the whisky he'd given Arthur to Bill and Williamson steps back and downs it like a parched man in the desert. 

Isaac comes back to his side not long after, Arthur having rid of his damp clothes and now resting in dry ones. His coat was laid out to dry by the fire, as was the hat John had retrieved from the rain, so they laid under the grey and green blanket Bessie had bought from a Navajo craftsman back in '84. Isaac holds his hand beneath the blanket, curled into Arthur's side as the adrenaline finally wears off and the exhaustion takes over. The others seem to be hit with it too, John poking absently at the fire with a stick while Bill began snoring in the corner. Uncle was on watch, laid against the rock with the brim of his hat pulled low, and Strauss was yawning in the corner. 

Only Dutch remained standing. His figure looked foreboding in the midst of the mouth of the cavern, all tall and made of shadows like he was. Arthur can see the glint of the golden buckle on the side of his hat, of the reflection of the fire in the spokes of his spurs and Dutch twitches. It's a while and a few winks of sleep before Arthur hears horses. He goes to reach for the pistol on his belt, head snapping up, only to find Uncle pushing himself to stand while Dutch seemingly comes back from the rain with a dark expression on his face. 

John lifts his head at the sound of scuffling boots and no words are shared as Dutch carries Annabelle inside. The others follow him within, soaked to the core by rainwater and suffering scratches. Arthur leans forth gingerly as not to wake Isaac and looks over as Bill hovers behind Dutch as Annabelle is lowered to the ground. 

She's been shot and the wound has stopped bleeding. She's stopped breathing, too. 

Dutch kneels beside her body and merely stares at her closed eyelids as the others move around him silently, Bessie rubbing the back of her head as she comes to sit on the opposite side of Isaac. Hosea sits beside her and whispers something in French, something to do with her skull, but Arthur never absorbed French properly. She shrugs in response and curls into Hosea, resting her eyes much to her husband's dismay which is painted clearly across his face. 

Brown eyes meet Arthur's blue ones and there's a shared look of exhaustion before Arthur looks back at Dutch, the gang leader still staring silently at Annabelle.

=

  
Annabelle was wrapped and placed in the next cave over until they could bury her in the morning. Dutch spent the night away from them, alongside his girl for the final time and it was a dreary morning when everyone awoke. 

Isaac fed off the energy and John volunteered to take the kid elsewhere so he wouldn't have to see the body, let alone suffer anymore in everyone's choking suffering. Arthur gives his blessing and John arms himself to the teeth, too blind to notice that Uncle was following the pair at a distance for their safety. 

Despite the injury he suffered the night before, Arthur helps dig the hole. They find a place up on the canyon where the mud seeped low and turned the dirt and pebbles soft. He swings a pickaxe over his head when Bill finds a particularly tough spot with his shovel, the sound of metal hitting rock echoing through the canyon louder than the gunfight had been. Any O'Driscoll bodies that Susan and Bessie had left behind up here had been dragged away by wild animals, leaving smears of blood across the rocks and guns that used to belong to someone. Bill is in the grave up to his hip when Hosea arrives with a second shovel and starts digging without word, simply aiding them in silence. 

"I was sure-" Bill uses the edge of the shovel to break away tree roots. "-that you'd stay with Dutch."

Hosea is shoveling the other man's mess out of the hole and onto the growing pile of earth beside them. "Susan is soothing him like I can't."

"With her pussy?"

Matthews stops abruptly and Arthur wishes he'd bash Bill right over his big mouth. Bill realizes no one else is laughing and he grows sullen, turning back to his work obediently before Hosea can lift his shovel up and knock his teeth out. 

There's no more conversation simply because no one wanted to talk. Bill realized his impulsive comments and behaviors did no favors and was brooding about it, taking his rage out on the dirt, and Arthur was tired. Hosea had been fussing over Bessie as subtly as he could, in ways that Dutch wouldn't see nor Isaac wouldn't worry. Arthur knew Hosea wanted to take care of her and that Bessie was more than capable of taking care of herself, but neither member of the Matthews couple liked scaring or concerning their boys. 

Hosea's got a wheeze in his breath when the grave is six feet deep. Arthur drops the pick and offers his hand, steeling himself in the ground with his good leg and using his weight to pull the older man out. It's easy work and they both topple out at the overuse of Arthur's strength and, any other day, they might have shared a laugh. There's shared amusement, but they still remain quiet. Bill climbs out and collects their tools, standing guard alongside the grave as Hosea heads back down the canyon to get them water and fetch the others. 

"You ever think before you speak?" Arthur asks as he seats himself on the damp ground. He's sweating and the cool, rain-smelling air feels fantastic as it pushes his hair from his face. 

Bill scoffs and offers the glinting flask he's produced from the jacket that laid in the tree. "Sometimes."

Arthur hums and reaches out, catching the flask and taking a sip from it. Brandy burns past his lips and over his tongue, settling warmly in his stomach before he throws it back. 

"You ever actually think?" Bill sends him a glare as he lowers his hands to his lap. "I'm serious. You can't just say shit like that."

"I get that now." the other man is getting defensive and Arthur sighs, wishing he had Bessie or Hosea's fine way with words. "I-I just ain't good with _people_ , Morgan."

"Yeah, I know that." Bill scoffs again like it wasn't the truth.

"I'm sorry I can't be as _great_ as you." he tips his head far back and finishes the brandy he'd poured in the flask. 

"And I will mourn that loss until I die." Bill actually laughs and Arthur finds himself grinning partially, just the two of them without any distractions or pressing matters. As the conversation goes on, Arthur finds that Bill could really open up and act like a man instead of a barbarian. It might have been the alcohol that loosened his tongue, but as Bill spoke about his past and stared aimlessly at the flowers that grew above the canyon, he sounded human. Arthur had given him advice in return, things he learned from Hosea and Dutch, other things he learned from Bessie. Instead of snapping, Bill seemed to listen and accept them, sounding less like a fool and more like an educated buffoon. 

Arthur wraps himself in his dry jacket when he sees the group converging on the hill. Bill cleans himself briefly and hides the flask, hopping around the grave to help Arthur stand. John sacrifices himself as a crutch for Arthur and Bessie takes his other side while Bill and Hosea lower Annabelle into the ground. Uncle, Strauss, Susan, Isaac, and Dutch don't arrive until the dirt has been pushed back over the corpse and there's a marker in the dirt. For Isaac, it was to spare him. For Dutch?

Arthur couldn't say he really knew. 

=

  
They make it into Utah, down one person put still persevering. 

Dutch was quiet now, incredibly so especially after Hosea said revenge wasn't worth it and if he retaliated, Colm would just kill more of the gang. 

" _He murdered Annabelle!_ " Dutch had bellowed somewhere near the camp. 

" _Because you shot his brother!_ " Hosea had roared in return. 

It'd been a long few weeks since putting Annabelle into the ground, and they were followed by flashes of green everywhere they went. Arthur was growing nervous and twitchy because he couldn't tell if the O'Driscoll's knew he had a son. He also knew from Colm and his brother riding with them that the O'Driscoll's didn't care who they killed, as long as there was blood and suffering. Arthur had been the one to report the monstrosity to Dutch all those years ago, almost puking on himself at the image of the blood and the suffering, of the corpses of innocent people Colm and his brother had slaughtered for their money and for entertainment. 

Arthur didn't blame himself for Colm's brother dying, he just wished that they had more time to run after Dutch put a bullet in that man's skull. Their camp had been big then, a lot of ex-soldiers riding with them and young people from Mexico. Chester, Harriet, Lyon, Gael, Alejandra, Santiago, Jackson, Curtis, Matthias, Leaning Bear, Good Road, and Chowilawu. 

They'd all been shot during that firefight and if they didn't die where they stood, they died later. Some on the road as the gang ran, others who got poisoned by the lead in their system weeks to months later. The last one standing, Good Road, went to bed feeling sick and never got up again. Arthur _did_ blame himself for Good Road's death because he had a sinking feeling in his gut that night that the illness was more than a bit of bad food. 

Dutch is still quiet, still sulking in quiet parts of the day. The only actions he makes are to smoke or to stare, or to lay back and shut his eyes. When he isn't in camp, Hosea sends Bill to go find him and Bill always comes back with Dutch a little bloody because he'd been out shooting O'Driscoll's again. 

" _Nothing wrong with getting rid of vermin_." Hosea had said gently one evening. " _Just make sure you do it right._ "

" _Don't doubt my abilities_." Dutch responded. 

Utah bleeds into Nevada, and Nevada bleeds into the Sierras. The air here is crisp and clean, and giving. Arthur learns from a family looking to settle west how to properly do Isaac's hair and he's never been so grateful. It had been growing out long and in everyone's absentmindedness, they'd simply kept promising to do it right eventually while tying it away from his face. Arthur hadn't had the tools to keep his son's hair properly because it was so different than his own. But the ladies from the other group take up a place at the fire and speak with Susan and Bessie like they're sisters, chatting with one another while also teaching Arthur how to do hair. Arthur learns a lot that day, not just about hair, but about women's suffering. About black women's suffering, about native women's suffering. 

He's given things to keep Isaac's hair healthy and a recipe on how to make them himself before those ladies part: Delilah and Flo. 

Eventually, he can tie Isaac's hair in a healthy way and set it with beads, watching as it, over time, grew long. Often his son wanted two braids on either side of his head, so Arthur learned how to braid Bessie's straight hair before he learned how to braid Isaac's. Arthur's not sure he did it right, but when Isaac first sees himself in the reflection Dutch's mirror, he's bouncing on his heels and running around camp to show everyone. 

He'd taken Isaac and John out hunting that day and it's the afternoon when they're roasting bird meat over the fire. It's slathered in seasoning but Arthur ends up cooking it until it's dry, watching his son sipping his water with every other bite. He can't help but laughing, his chest light-hearted ever since the main block of grief from losing Eliza wore off. Annabelle hurt too, it affected Isaac, but the Morgan boys had been healing together and started laughing together too. 

Six months on, and Arthur couldn't imagine _not_ having his son with him. 

He's chewing the bit of meat Isaac popped in his mouth when John talks from his tree stump, unlit cigarette between his teeth and a knife being sharpened in his hands. 

"You ain't comin' back."

Arthur pauses and watches the teen, resuming his chewing carefully while the knife glides across the stone. 

"How you mean?" he asks as Isaac collects flowers and gets lost in his own world. 

John shrugs, but it isn't aimless. It's directed towards the little boy now talking to himself and the bugs, sitting in a sudden heap because something's caught his interest. Arthur looks over at him, watching Isaac pull at a flower while John finds his voice. "You're staying here. In the west."

He swallows his food and nods, the meat getting stuck in his throat before he washes it down with chilled water. 

"I ain't goin' to drop him off, then pick back up with the gang." he answers. "I've been absent in his life too much, and he's my boy. He's..."

John meets Arthur's eyes briefly before the teen brings his feet up on the stump and continues sharpening his knife. "Makes you a better pa than both of ours had been."

Arthur chews the inside of his cheek and nods in silence. He guessed that was the point, to break the chain the Morgans were famous for. He wished it didn't take Eliza's death and Hosea's scolding to realize what his chances were and what his life could be. But he _is_ grateful, at the very least, that this opportunity presented itself like it had. He could now watch Isaac grow up and they could laugh together, he could teach him good things like reading and writing and could now successfully do his hair. Isaac runs his hand across the braid draped over his shoulder and he looks at John and Arthur, beaming a smile at them that is missing a front tooth because it'd fallen out. 

He'd slipped a few cents beneath Isaac's pillow and he'd been ecstatic about it the next day. 

"What's Dutch gonna do without you?" John asks. 

Arthur shrugs and leans away from their dead firepit, bringing his legs under himself. "He's got you, and Bill, and Hosea. Ain't like he's gonna be very cheerful soon anyways."

John lets out a dark laugh and holsters his knife finally, dropping the rock he'd been sharpening with. He stretches his legs off of the stump and hums, tucking some hair behind his ear. 

"Yeah, guess so."

"You can stay with us." Arthur blurts. 

The teen glances at him and his stare becomes icy. "Don't say that shit."

"Watch your language- and it's true. You can."

"You got Isaac to worry about. You don't need my-my crap following you."

"It ain't crap, John. We all got our problems."

"Yeah, maybe. But I'm a whole heap of shit and a bunch of work." he stands from the tree stump, fists at his sides. "So don't say that shit."

Arthur shifts his weight on to his knee and presses his hand against his heart. "I swear it, John. Just like Hosea said to me, you've got a chance. You don't gotta stay in this life long enough to give yourself a record. You ain't gotta run with Dutch and go to jail. Hosea said I'm young, that I've got a great opportunity. You- you're younger, you're faster, you're smart. You ain't gotta kill to survive, John."

John narrows his eyes at him. "At least you've got an excuse. I'd just be betraying Dutch if I stayed."

"Then let me talk to him-"

"And do what? Plead with him until you're feeling miserable? Don't do that to yourself. I'll be fine with Dutch."

"What if you're not?"

"Then it'll be my own problem to fix. Not yours."

"What if I tackled you like I used to have to do and dragged you with me?" John laughs, but Arthur's serious. He clenches his jaw and John looks at him with worry, with vulnerability he hadn't seen from John in a long time. " _Please_. You have a chance."

John looks at the bigger man like he's going to cry, and Arthur wants to tell him it's okay. _You can cry, you can talk to me._ He _had_ gone soft around Isaac because he was his father and he wanted the best for his little boy. And John, despite all the bullshit he put Arthur through these last couple of years, was still his little brother.

"I said-said I don't want you to say that shit." John's voice is just a gravelly whisper.

Arthur goes to shift on his other knee and bring John closer, but he hears horses. He sees a white one, and a grey one, and Bill's war horse bounding through the trees at them with Dutch's eyes burning. Isaac runs back to Arthur's side and the father lays his hand between his son's shoulders, standing and easing his weight on his good leg as John slipped the cigarette from his lips and hid it in his pocket. 

The older men arrive and start talking, Dutch calmly explaining that Colm was close in a tone suited better for his enemies. Arthur can see that glint in his eyes, the rage and the hunger. Hosea is silent and unmoving, but a glance at him shows Morgan that he still doesn't want to strike back at Colm. It would do nothing for them. But Dutch is bloodthirsty and Bill hasn't killed in a while. Arthur's leg had healed enough that he could join them and John was always roped into work because he'd become Dutch's favorite. 

He glances at the prized pony, looking at John as he stares at Dutch with hard eyes. 

Isaac is watching him when he looks down, staring up at Arthur with a question in his eyes because he knew how this camp worked. He knew what his dad's job was and what he did to bring he and Eliza money for the last four years. 

But he's understanding. 

Arthur rides out with the boys with a heavy weight in his gut, swallowing the cold regret in his throat as he rides behind Silver Dollar. Dutch is talking big and boisterous, almost sounding like he used to do before Annabelle was murdered and Arthur accepted his role as a father. Hosea is silent the whole way to the hideout, simply riding with his rifle over his back and watching the road. Bill and John chime in when Dutch is looking for yes-men and Arthur knows Dutch is glancing at him when he says nothing. 

He doesn't want to appease Dutch. He doesn't even want to kill. 

He wants to be with Isaac. 

The hideout is a formation of rotting buildings that had once acted as a mining town. Now long forgotten, they'd stood dormant for years until the O'Driscoll's moved in and used it as a camp. The mines weren't far, but they were still containing poisoned rocks that would kill a man if he exposed himself to it too long. The O'Driscoll's were stupid, but they weren't dumb enough to hide in the mines. 

In the moment Dutch swings off of his horse, he shouts at them, calling attention to himself. John and Hosea are up on the ridge while Arthur and Bill back the gang leader up. Dutch is all fluid movements and anger in his shoulders, wide jaw tensing as an O'Driscoll laughs at him. It doesn't take long after that for a bullet to leave Dutch's revolver, or for blood to start staining the ground. There's a lot of running, and rushing, and the world going yellow. Arthur's thigh aches when his head doesn't hurt too bad and Bill throws him tobacco to chew on to get rid of the throbbing in his skull. 

A few tins of tobacco later, and the camp is silent. Someone has run from the abandoned rails and carts to the building in the north and they're holed up inside, unmoving. Arthur sees Hosea directing John to turn the scope to the window and they're silent for a few minutes up there before Hosea motions for them to continue. 

Dutch kicks the door down and shoots the gun out of the last O'Driscoll's hand, rushing him and scaring him into a chair in the corner. The younger man pants as he curls his fingers beneath the seat of the chair, staring at them like a startled animal as Dutch meanders closer. The big man was going to take his time, enjoying this little game while he had this kid in his hands. Arthur knows that Colm doesn't care about his men, not like Dutch does, so this would hardly hurt him. But Dutch was probably imagining they caught Colm during the gunfight, that this kid was the man who murdered Annabelle. Dutch leans back with a dark chuckle and slams the heel of his boot in the space between the O'Driscoll's legs. Arthur hears the wooden chair creaking when the man isn't whimpering, watching as Dutch leans forth. 

"Colm." he says. "Where is he?"

The O'Driscoll stammers over his words, legs shaking. "I-I-I-"

"Don't tell me I scare you that much, _boy_." Dutch leans in far enough that Arthur sees his breath moving the O'Driscoll's beard hair. " _Where is Colm?_ "

"I-I don't know! He'd just be runnin' from you."

"Like chicken with it's head cut off." Dutch straightens his spine and as he moves away, Arthur realizes he has to pry his spur from the chair. It leaves a long crack in the wood and Dutch turns away, eyes still blazing, and he moves too fast for either Bill or Arthur to stop him. He swings his arm around and bashes his gun in the side of the O'Driscoll's head so hard that blood spurts out and the man drops to the ground. He does it again, bringing his arm over his head and down so hard that it spatters over his white shirt. Then his boot is connecting with the O'Driscoll's chin, ribs, stomach.

He takes in a very long, deep breath as blood pools against the floor, slipping his gun into it's holster and stepping away before the blood could touch the toes of his fine boots. He shoulders past Bill and Arthur and they hear his boots crunching against the rocks, murmuring to Hosea while they stare absently at the body.

John runs in, no doubt wanting to talk all about his time with the highly powered rifle, but he stops short between them and stares wide-eyed at the mess ahead of them. Arthur turns and takes John by his jacket, finding Hosea standing and staring in the middle of the doorway. 


	9. Weno'omo'r

John sees the ocean. 

It's massive, like a beast coming to swallow them up. It's intimidating, too. John can't see anything on the other side, just boats that float away on some kind of mission. Everything's so green here, too. The hills are green, the trails are green. People's gardens are green and lush with plants. They follow the shoreline for miles, water lapping at their horse's hooves, people swimming together in the water. They make camp a couple times on the expanse of sand and John stands just out of reach of the waves while he watches the others. 

Arthur is standing in the waves with Isaac on his shoulder's, occasionally dipping his son in with his strong arms. Bill is chasing Strauss around on the shore in drunken humor, wheezing out laughter as Strauss shouts _verpiss dich!_ angrily, once or twice getting grabbed but always finding his way out of Bill's grip. Hosea has picked Bessie up and is entirely intending on dropping her in the water, avoiding the other men as Strauss socks Bill in the stomach and leaves him crumpled and laughing on the sand. 

John watches as Bessie flails, shooting light threats at her husband as Hosea heaves her over his shoulder and wades into the water. The teen starts to smile as Susan runs across the shore to save her friend, shouting at Hosea in that humored tone of hers. Bessie is thrown into the water and Hosea turns and starts jogging out of the waves after Susan, grabbing her by the middle and throwing her in too. John laughs to himself while he watches the ladies gang up on Hosea, both using momentum and body weight to throw him in the water. 

He looks over his shoulder, away from the moonlit waves and at their camp. Uncle is sharing a bottle of whisky with Dutch and they're conversing. The oldest man, he's busy keeping his eye on the stars, but Dutch is looking straight at John. A stiff motion from the gang leader's hand and John is padding over the sand to his side, feeling like an obedient dog. 

"Excuse me, Uncle." Dutch stands and leaves the set of chairs positioned in the sand to go to his tent. It's on the slight incline atop firm parts of the beach, set in a way that he'd wake to the sunrise and admire its beams from inside. John stays standing in the midst of the tent while the older man takes a cigar and lights in, standing across from him. 

John feels so short and so small. Dutch was a big man, tall and muscled. Hosea had stories about the times Dutch used his body instead of his words to get his way, how he could crowd people's space and convince them to give themselves up, or to give information. It felt like he was doing that now, taking puffs of his cigar and watching John from the end of his nose. Marston wants to squirm, to move and fight, but if he just did something right...

"How do you feel about all this?"

The bigger man's question comes at a surprise.

"About the beach?" John says, but Dutch shakes his head. 

"About Arthur leaving with the boy."

He shrugs like it doesn't matter to him, but he'd been thinking about it ever since they left Eliza in her grave. "Things change. I'll get used to it."

"I'm not asking about the future, John. I'm asking about now. How _you_ feel about the _now_."

The teen shrugs again. He'd made some leeway getting peace about the idea of existing without Arthur with him, without his big brother protecting him. "Ain't up to me what Arthur does. It ain't up to neither of us no more. He wants to be there for Isaac, so..."

Dutch's eyes have gone dark and wild and John curls his fingers into his palms. His nails dig into the soft flesh there, not yet ruined by years of working, and Dutch takes another drag on his cigar. 

"Ain't you angry?" he asks. 

Of course he was. John was always angry.

"When haven't I been? I always got somethin' to be mad about." Dutch smiles partially in the dim light of his lantern. 

"If you were honest with him, maybe Arthur would listen to you." the big man suggests as he takes half a step closer to John. It's this inquisitive, quiet way Dutch analyzes him that makes John feel small. Like he needs to be educated and brought up better. Part of the reason why he fell in with them was because Dutch was strong and John felt safe. "You could keep Arthur with us."

John wants to jump on that chance and do it, wants to believe he had the ability to convince Arthur to stay with them all. They could keep running jobs, keep robbing bad people and redistribute the money to others that were in need of it. Keep their legendary name across the states and keep fighting the nature of things. John loved the freedom of that, and the idea of Arthur settling down and making an honest living confused him to no end. 

But... he looks Dutch in the eye while Isaac squeals in happiness behind him, Arthur's deep laughter following. There was a family there, older people that protected Arthur like they were his blood-born parents, people that gave John the time to calm down enough to act like a human. 

To rob Isaac of that chance to live a good life with his father, to live a semi-normal life-

John couldn't do it. 

"I ain't got a good way with words." he answers. "Arthur and I, we ain't as close as you think we are. "

Dutch stares at him like he knows John is lying and he starts to move. He lifts his hand and Marston ducks instinctively though no one has laid a hand on him like that in years. And Dutch pauses, baffled that John would think he would strike him, and touches the teen's shoulder with care. John tenses under the touch and actually _shrugs_ Dutch off of him, taking a step backwards as the big man's eyes widen and he finds himself ducking out of the tent and running away from the campsite. 

Bill shouts after him but it just gets quieter the more he runs. And the more he runs, the more he feels his legs burning as they thud against the sand, the more his heart thrums in his ears. The running made him feel free, like he was going somewhere and escaping something else. Maybe if he ran far enough, he wouldn't have to think about how his family was going to be torn apart by no fault other than the men who killed Eliza. 

He runs by flailing and Arthur had been spending years trying to teach him how to keep himself collected, but it didn't work. Neither did the swimming lessons because John clutched his teachers like he was about to drown. 

John finds white rock cliffs and climbs on the brown ones beneath them, looking into the puddles and using the moonlight to watch the animals inside. Funny little things that move weird, shells with slugs inside that retract when he dips his fingers in. Waves crash against the rocks and the spritz covers him, John feeling panic rise in his throat as he realizes the tide was coming in. It's around his ankles and he's breathing harsh, scrambling over the rocks and running to the dry sand ahead of him. It's a climb and a half, and John is drenched and panting by the time he reaches it, but he's safe. 

The water closes in behind him and he curls into himself between two big rocks. Alone, and quiet. It's just him and the waves that seemed so imposing. He just hopes that the tide didn't intend to raise anymore than it had. The rocks don't look to be worn down by the water, just that they seem to have broken from the top of the cliff and crashed down some time ago. There's even a bird nest in here, and a little glinting bottle beneath it that someone had hid. 

He finds it empty once he drags it out and the disappointment washes over him like the waves had, so he drops it back in that crack and curls up in the shadows. The amount of boats have dissipated and now it's just those that linger, floating silently so far away under the watchful eye of the moon. Sometimes, John can see the flicker of the lighthouse in the distance and he imagines Arthur doing that job, sitting atop a tower in a big sweater with his beard all grown out. 

John runs his fingers over the hair on his chin and feels jealousy towards the older outlaw. Arthur, who could read, write, draw, _and_ grow a beard. Who could do everything better than John, who could even deal with his emotions better. 

He hears crunching of sand soon and his eyes shoot open. All he has is that big knife Annabelle bought for him and holding it feels like a challenge because all he can think about is her kindness and her sweetness, of the love she offered them all in the time she lived. John pushes himself deeper in the shadows of the rocks, but he knows that his boot prints were deep in the sand and it'd lead straight to his hiding place. He hopes that the person who's following him turns around, wants to make sure this person doesn't want their bottle or _him_ , and he clutches that knife like the first time he killed with it. 

Bessie peers in with those gentle eyes and his lips part in surprise. She smiles softly at him and shifts so she's leaning against the rock casually, waiting for him to exit. 

"I ain't no kinda company." he mutters. 

"You should have seen Hosea when I first met him," she says as she pushes her hair over her shoulder. "A more miserable bastard you never did see."

John finds himself grinning a little. He inches out from between the rocks but not far enough to fully leave. The shadows still envelop him and he feels safe, especially with Bessie next to him, basking under the light of the moon with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face. 

"How you feel about Arthur leavin'?" he asks her suddenly and quickly, digging the edge of his knife into the sand. 

"Hopeful." Bessie answers in that whimsical tone of hers. "You?"

He shrugs like he can be seen in his dark hole, but she seems to see enough of it to know his answer. "I don't like it, if I'm honest. I want him to stay."

She slides further down the rock until her back is flat against it and she stretches her legs over the sand. "I know. He and Isaac deserve a more gentle life. I'm... proud that he's doing this for his son."

"Me too!" he says quickly and crawls out from between the rocks, legs still in the shadows. "I mean- he needs this. Isaac, I mean. Arthur and I have talked a little bit, and I know it wouldn't be fair of any of us to try and keep him in this. But I-I don't know a good life without him. He's my _brother_."

Bessie offers her hand and John takes it hesitantly. 

"I love him too, John." She says softly. "Do you understand that you could-"

He's shaking his head, tightening his grip around her hand. "As long as I got you and Hosea, I feel alright. Arthur... Arthur- he can-"

"He'll live well out here. He's strong in more than a few ways. You don't have to worry about him." John curls up into Bessie because Annabelle wasn't here for him to do that with anymore. And without dark eyes staring at him, he relaxes easily and keeps her hand wrapped in his, safe in her side and watching the water. "Hosea and I will keep you safe, we promise you that."

His eyes well up with tears and for once, he lets them roll. Because it's just him, the waves, and the closest thing he ever had to a mother, all being kept safe by the bright moon above. 

=

For a few weeks, they go straight doing odd jobs. The ones they remain with the longest are cattle rustling and house cleaning, then cleaning up in the abandoned mission near the shore. Soldiers march through one time and they fascinate Isaac, but Bessie turns away with them with a tense air before she goes back to work. 

For those weeks she counts money for rich families and becomes somewhat of a governess for the richer children of the town. Then they move further north, deeper into green hills that are slowly turning yellow and above the town made of crumbling homes with Spanish influences and new buildings built by proud homesteaders. There are fresh fish and lots of animals, lots of cheerful people this far west. There's a loud man here who tries appealing to their senses, but none of them buy it. 

Not until Hosea is introduced to him after a long day rustling cattle, dusty and dirty as he is. There's a home in the hills, a place a family was trying to rid of because they needed to go to Mexico. 

"The seller's name is Catalina," this man tells them as they ride up on the property. 

Arthur rides with Isaac, as usual, and John behind the Matthews couple. They come across rocks pointing as a route before they find the house. It's made of stacked stones and white rock, it's shingles made of clay. It looks very old, almost on the verge of collapsing, but Arthur beams at it with dreams in his eyes. He's the first to get down from the saddle, setting Isaac on his feet and approaching the broken fence. All of the buildings here needed to be mended, from the desolate chicken coupe, to the white rock of the house. Even the outhouse, as John comes to find, has the major flaw of a hole in it's side. 

But it's a lot of property. Property, and a home with a fence already around it. There's space for a barn and stables if they so chose, and a stone porch where meals could be hosted. Inside, there is still furniture from the last family, but this odd man guides them through with Catalina's permission, showing them what it looks like. The inside is in better condition, it's floors made of set clay tiles and covered by rugs. The kitchen has a stove and a sink, an oven and a heater. There is seating built into the wall out of the same rock and there are faded cushions resting atop it. A wooden table is placed in front and there is a wide, dusty window that shows the back part of the property. 

Out of that window they can see more golden grass and a plot where the previous family had been growing their produce. There is more upstairs, more rooms, more rugs, more windows dragging light in. John plays with the wooden slats for a while until one of the hinges snaps and he pushes it back against the wall and hurries Isaac out of the room. They're laughing with one another as they regroup with everyone else, following them back down the stairwell and out of the home. 

Arthur's obviously thinking about it. His lips are pursed and he's crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed in that way of his. Hosea is too; his hands are set on his hips while he talks to this man and John wrangles Isaac. 

"You could pay the full amount now, or, you can pay in pieces over time." 

"I think we should discuss that with Catalina." Hosea tells the man. 

So they wait. Arthur is twitchy but excited and Isaac likes the house well enough. Dutch takes Bill, Susan, and Bessie up north for work and leaves Arthur and John behind with Hosea with that disappointed look in his eyes. John won't look at him directly anymore because he can't stand to do so; feeling like he failed Dutch though he didn't do anything stung him worse than any slap he could get. 

Maybe his doing nothing was why Dutch was so disappointed.

John wanted to rush out and prove himself. He had his knife and his guns, a whole load of ammo and anger with him. The rage coiled in his gut and he started snapping at the older men whenever he got the chance, sparing Isaac save for that one time the little boy pulled his hair in his own rightful anger. John runs again. He goes from the camp down the shore, climbs those rocks when he knows the waves won't get him and brings starfish back to Arthur and throws them at him. He runs away when Arthur charges and goes into town, slipping money from people's pockets and taking gold items off of others. John earns himself a nice little golden cross and he admires it in the back alleyways of town before a drunkard finds him and starts kicking. 

Marston runs with the cross and the drunk man's money like he hasn't run before, free and wild, hair sticking to his face as he ducks out of the way of horses and wagons, finally bringing his arms in like Arthur taught him to do. And now, he feels untouchable. For the next few weeks while the older men work and Isaac goes to class, John runs wild. He taunts slow men with big guns and laughs when they're dragged to jail for disturbing the peace. 

Law can't catch him and he finds that it's the greatest entertainment of all. Doing just as Dutch taught him by using his skills to evade the law. There's power in that, he decides. A lot of power in the ability to get so close to a jail cell but still find his way out of the sheriff's hands. 

He starts taunting soldiers, taking their hats and their badges. They find him funny, so he stabs one in the hand and runs with their blood on his arm. A party is formed to capture him, angry men and women tired of his shit, but he just keeps moving. He finds a pretty girl around his age that kisses him and he gets riled up behind the saloon before she steals that pretty golden cross from him and runs. Unlike John, she has a door to lock behind her, so he loses her when he plants his face against the wood and topples back in pain.

His nose is broken, he can tell that much. There's enough blood covering his shirt and dribbling down his face, and when the doctor ushers him in to treat him, he sees the uneven line of bone. The doctor doesn't ask him for pay, he only asks for the things John has stolen. Begrudgingly, he gives them back and walks out of the doctor's office in the evening with blood covering his chest and tissues in his nose. The people he's stolen from don't pay him much mind; they've decided that a broken nose is enough of a punishment and he thinks he should be grateful. 

But he isn't. 

John runs more that night, climbing rocks high into the hills. The moon is big and bright again and he can see that property Arthur was interested in. It's far below him here, up on this mountain with his arms out at his sides. He can see Catalina with her family, dancing to music that hums up the grass to John's ears, making his nose ache. They're playing violins and singing something in Spanish, something joyous that makes his chest hurt. 

He slides down the hill and walks angrily back to camp. 

It's a few more days of quiet before Arthur announces that he's bought the property. 

"Paid in full," he says with a smile. "Thanks to you two."

" _That's_ what happened to all that money." John says as Hosea places down meals for them around the campfire. "I thought you 'n Bessie were gonna give those jewels away?"

"We did." Hosea beckons Isaac back from the water and the little boy runs over, giving gracious thanks as he receives his meal. "Those jewels will be enough to give them families something better than they already have."

"Like us." Arthur says. John knows he means himself and his son, but he can't help but think that the invitation to leave the gang is still extended. 

The other's arrive back after Catalina has left Arthur with a blessing, more than happy to give Isaac a good home. She leaves with her own little kids for Mexico, waving from her wagon with a beautiful smile. John is wandering the vacated home with Bessie when she stops beside him, growing still. He thinks nothing of it, not until she starts to press her hand to the wall. John reaches out in worry and touches her back, stooping to see her face. 

Bessie raises her hand and stands straight again, going on with her day and helping move in some decorations. It's in the grass behind the house when she doubles over again, this time surrounded by the others. Hosea wraps his arm around her with haste and as her hair separates, John can see blood on the back of her skull. Hosea can't because he's studying her face, whispering to her while the others in the circle stiffen and watch. 

Susan is playing with Isaac far away in the field, spinning him and smiling when Bessie mutters incoherently. There's no language that her words belong to, not until she starts repeating _nergery_ under her breath and squeezing Hosea's hand so hard she leaves scratches in his skin. 

Eventually, one last _nergery_ until she's collapsing from her stool, convulsing in the dirt and thrusting her body like she's in unimaginable pain. Everyone stands in a hurry as Hosea keeps her head from connecting with the ground, wrapping one arm around the back of her neck and holding her sweetly. John's never seen such panic in that man's eyes, not since Arthur had almost drowned. He's talking to her in her mother's language as a last resort to have her understand him and Susan is racing across the field to help as Strauss falls to his knees and orders Hosea to keep Bessie from choking on her tongue. 

John kneels to help, but his heart is racing and he's terrified. He isn't sure what he can do before Susan is demanding he hold Bessie's legs down and that Arthur take her wrists. Both of them move with haste, doing as they're instructed and avoiding getting hit as Bessie keeps convulsing. She tosses her head which Strauss grabs and holds still while Hosea keeps his wife from choking on her tongue. 

"Who's the fastest rider?" Dutch asks. 

"I can run." John answers. 

He'd make it in half the time tumbling down the hill than one of their horses would following the trails to keep from breaking their legs. And if he hurt himself- what of it? They needed to get Bessie medical care and fast. 

" _Go_." Arthur breathes, and John is leaving Bessie's legs under the care of someone else and racing through the house. 

The front door is still open and he darts through, rushing past the horses and booking it for the town below. He avoids protruding rocks and finds himself falling more than he is running, but he's making good time. The town is getting closer and the buildings are getting bigger. The people below are no longer small figures, but now full size individuals that stare up in confusion as the greatest rascal they've ever met bounds down the hill. John kicks up dirt and grass behind himself as he moves, landing harshly on the road below before he rolls and runs for the doctor's office. 

He slams the door open and startles the older man inside, a greying face turning to him as John splutters about Bessie and tries to catch his breath. The doctor stands from his desk and grabs his things, taking John gently by his shoulder and locking the door behind himself. He grabs a wagon, but John says it would be too slow. They gather the sheriff and the deputies, an escort up the hill and to the property. 

John runs through and finds she's stopped convulsing but isn't conscious, instead laying loose in Hosea's arms and lap, head cradled to his heart. Dutch raises his head at the sound of voices and excuses himself because he's still a wanted man, moving to hide in the upper reaches of the home. Bill goes with him, because he got caught selling ammunition to some bandits and they couldn't afford risking this life for Arthur. 

Arthur keeps his hand on Hosea's shoulder as Strauss opens Bessie's eyelid and checks her, finding that it's rolled up and has no intention on focusing on anything. John wrings his hands as the doctor comes through with his things and a line of deputies, the big men around him commending John for his work in getting them so fast. 

He's sweaty, he's caked in grass and dirt, and he's watching these equally sweaty men gingerly lift Bessie at the right order. Hosea doesn't let go of her hand as she's guided through the house and out the front door, laid sweetly in the back of the wagon with Hosea's thighs as her pillow, eyes still shut as that wagon takes the trail from the property and down the hill. 

John realizes later that Isaac was clutching his hand. 

=

Marston is touching the heated bruises around his nose when he can hear Dutch in the back rooms. 

"Law is closing in."

"Maybe you shouldn't have robbed that fucking coach, huh?" Susan spits. She's losing her cool the longer Bessie stays at the doctor's. Apparently she wasn't making good headway and the doctor was losing faith in her ever awakening. 

Dutch had been loyal to Hosea, slipping into town even when law was searching for him, coming to his friend's side and holding him. But he'd been spotted in the saloon, drinking sullenly with Bill, and those were the two most wanted men in their gang. So Dutch needs to leave, he needs to take his money and for the safety of this family, he needs to run. Despite the fact that Bessie was so very close to being lost to them all, he still needs to go. 

Hosea is quiet as he steps into the house. His boots are heavy and the spurs jingle as he shuts the door behind himself. John knows he's been drinking because Hosea always walks like he weighs as much Arthur when he's drunk. Then the smell comes to him, despite the shattered bones setting in his nose, and John raises angry eyes to find Hosea slumping against the wall and sliding down. 

"Are you staying here, or are you goin' with me?" Dutch asks Susan firmly. 

The floors of this house are so heavy that John doesn't hear Arthur moving above him with Isaac, sitting on this cool bench built into the side of the house as Hosea starts to fall asleep on the floor. 

"Don't-" Susan sounds almost pained. "-not right now. I can't leave them while they're like this."

"This was _Arthur's_ choice." John stands from the table as Dutch continues. "You're an adult, you can make your own decision. Strauss won't stay, but I can't find Uncle anywhere. No doubt he'll slither his way back to me if he wants to. Bill has guns in the hills and we're goin' south. Less law and prettier beaches down that way, Susan."

"You think I'm here for the _beaches?_ Bessie might die, Dutch!"

Hosea's completely knocked out when John comes to the edge of his boot. He nudges him with his toe but the man doesn't respond, just jostles slightly under John's motions and drags a snore from the back of his throat. 

"And I can't stay to find out, or else I'll die too. You want me to _die_ , woman?"

"No, Dutch, but-"

"I am _leaving_. Are you comin' or not?"

John stands stiff in the silence. 

"Always."

He slips away from Hosea and vanishes in the darkness of the closed cupboards as Dutch and Susan exit the backroom. John has enough of a view through the partially open door that he can watch as the gang leader searches the kitchen for John, then slips into the dining area to find him there. But there's no signs of him, just a boy in a shelf, so Dutch kneels next to Hosea and says something to him. His big hands go to help Hosea stand, dragging his unconscious body over his shoulder before Dutch moves into the sitting room. 

John remains in his cupboard and watches while Susan stares after Dutch, then golden spurs find their way into the corridor and Dutch slips his hat on his head. 

"We'll find the boy in the morning." he whispers, taking Susan's wrist and guiding her to the door. 

"Aren't we going to say goodbye to Arthur?"

"Later." Dutch says, and it leaves his mouth like a purr. "I _promise_."


	10. Chpeekah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ne-nos = "My Husband"
> 
> Smeykoluemek' = "I miss/ I pine"
> 
> Kelee = Loosely meaning "You"
> 
> Keycheksek = "I am tired"
> 
> Chpeekah = "Always"
> 
> Chkee'worah = "Sleepyhead"
> 
> Choch = "Relative"
> 
> All translations were made using Yurok Dictionary affiliated with the Yurok Language Project Digital Archive hosted by the University of California in relation with the elders and members of the Yurok tribe.

Hosea wakes with the worse headache in his lifetime and groans in pain, achingly turning on his other side to face the back of the settee. He hardly remembers the night before, not after the doctor said he'd be trepanning Bessie's skull, making a big enough hole to let some of the blood out. The only things the doctor was confident about was one, Bessie had experienced too much trauma to her head and her brain was swelling and two, she might never wake up. 

So Hosea found the bar and started drinking. It was a work night, so he was almost alone. Him and the bartender who shared easy silence because word spread fast in town and everyone saw John leading the cavalry to save Bessie. He drank, then kept drinking until the world was spinning. When the bartender cut off his liquor, Hosea wanted to reach for his gun and threaten the man, but he saw he was being given kindness. He had stumbled out of the saloon doors and found his way to Silver Dollar, remembering a big wet nose snuffling at him before managed to get in the saddle. 

He has no memory of the ride back to the property. Just knows Silver Dollar is an intelligent animal and that he tread into the house, slumped against the wall, then heard Dutch whispering to him. 

" _Rest well_ ," he'd heard that tall man say. 

He didn't.

His dreams faded into nightmares where the property burned down and ghosts followed Hosea with taunts as he tried putting the flames out. But they kept stealing the water and stealing the air, and soon his world was spinning and he was standing in front of a row of graves he knew signified his family. 

Then he'd woken in pain, groaned, and rolled over to press his face into the cushion's of the settee. 

Hosea finds the strength later to get up, finds that the three boys are outside together, simply sharing a meal with one another. He digs through the pantry and finds that bottle of whisky Dutch left behind and breaks it's lid off, then throws his head back like he's still twenty and downs it. He drinks it like water, stumbling his way into the backyard where Bessie fell to sit and feel sorry for himself. Hosea finishes the bottle and wets his lips, more than drunk and searching for more to drink. 

He gets close to sobering up, but when he visits Bessie, the doctor says she has an additional illness that needed to be watched. Lots of bedrest, if she ever woke up, and no promises she would be the same woman as before. So he drinks more. The bartender eventually bans him from the saloon entirely and Hosea angrily steals alcohol from Arthur's pantry. He doesn't know how long it is, can't judge time by the growth of his blond beard, or the pain in his gut. It feels better like this, woozy and unfocused. He's relaxed and calm, doesn't have to worry when he can't walk. Alcohol just makes him feel _good_ , especially at a time riddled with so much sadness. 

He's up on the hill above Arthur's property when the boys come to find him. Isaac isn't with them, so Hosea assumes the little boy is visiting with his new friends. He reaches to finish the last drops in his collection of bottles when John kicks it away from his hand. Rage bubbles in his chest and he glares drunkenly at the kid, lips curling before he begins to crawl for it. A boot presses against his shoulder and he goes to smack it away, but he's suddenly grabbed around his middle and thrown upwards. 

Up, then over. He realizes Arthur has hoisted him on his shoulder and that he's being carried down the hill like a carcass. 

"Let me go." he spits, dribbling saliva out of his mouth. 

"Once, Bessie said to me you were a miserable bastard." Arthur starts as they descend the hill. "Never believed her until you started day drinking."

"I said _put me down_."

They reach the bottom of the hill and follow the field towards the house, then they're rounding the fixed white brick that Arthur had put so much time into and approaching the fence where the horses were currently unsaddled and kept. He flattens his palms against Arthur's back and finds the strength to push himself up, high enough that when he looks at John, he sees Marston making a peculiar face. 

He's shrugging, but his eyes are wide, and it looks more like the _we're here now_ motion he'd made so many times before. 

And suddenly Hosea is dropped into water and he's spluttering and spitting, thrashing until he finds his bearings and realizes the boys have dug a hole, filled it, and dropped him in it to get him sober. He pushes his wet hair back from his face and squints up at them, both their forms looming as they stand over the hole. Hosea shifts and looks into the muggy water, sees the beard that's grown despite the ripples, notices the bags in his eyes and the gaunt features of his face. 

He looks worse than a dead man.

"Go make us some coffee, John." Arthur requests. 

The teen takes a step away and follows the pathway into the house. Hosea shifts and finds the fence behind his back, so he leans against one of the poles and lifts a drenched hand to wipe droplets of dirt water from his eyelashes. Arthur crouches in front of the hole, hands folded together and sharp blue eyes watching him. 

"I _am_ a miserable bastard." he mutters while his son, the boy he'd tried to raise right, stares at him. "I think I'm just becoming the man I used to be."

"She ain't gone, Hosea." Arthur tells him gently. "There's still a chance, you taught me that."

The older man lifts his head and squints at the fixed up home, staring at the clay shingles on the roof before he breathes out a laugh. "Looks like I did, didn't I?"

"You gotta stop drinkin' like this." the younger man's voice has gone soft and Hosea shuts his eyes at the pain that sprouts in his heart. "I know it makes shit easy... you remember how I drank after Mary left me?"

Hosea breathes. "Yeah... puked your guts up too many times."

"John and I- we don't want to have to see you doin' that. You know you have us, that we-we care for you. There's a place here for you," he gestures to the house and shifts so Hosea can see it better. That's when John exits with a pot of coffee and a single cup. "But you _gotta_ start with you."

Dutch wasn't here to use his magnificent words. Susan wasn't here to scold him. Bessie wasn't here to do either. But Arthur had learned enough from them and had the capability to put a stop to this before Hosea fully poisoned himself and went to the grave. 

John pours a cup of black coffee and passes it over, waiting for a review. Hosea lets it cool, still sitting in that muddy hole, sun slowly drying him out. 

"What if she dies?" he asks softly. 

Arthur shakes his head. "That ain't somethin' we've got to think about."

It was. But Hosea drinks his coffee anyways and finishes a few more cups after the first, sobering slowly in that nasty hole. Eventually he stands, not without help from the others, then teases John that the coffee was too watery. The teen threatens to shove him back into the pit but he doesn't act, just leaves his hand on Hosea's arm to help him into the house. 

Hosea leaves puddles on the clay tiles on his way to his room. It had been previously reserved as both he and Bessie's room for future dates when they could come back and visit. Downstairs where things were more easily accessible, with a window that overlooked golden fields and the sharp blue water in the distance. He dries himself and washes the filth away, shaves his face and glances in the mirror at his complexion. His eyes look worn with the drinking and despite how much he cleans his teeth, or gargles, he can still taste the liquor in the back of his throat. He doesn't dress dark; a light blue shirt and brown pants, pushing his feet into his boots before he grabs his hat and steps out of the room.

He dries up the puddles he left behind and joins the boys outside, settling on the back of Arthur's horse because he was in no state to guide an animal. Arthur makes no complaint, just leaves John at the house with a gun and tells him to stay vigilant before the two older men depart. Hosea rubs his eyes, tries to push exhaustion and tears away as he thinks about his wife dying in the doctor's office. 

Fate seemed to have another path for them. 

The moment they enter town, one of the deputies rides up and Hosea almost instinctively grabs his gun, but the man isn't here to arrest them. The doctor had sent word to the sheriff, told him to send his best riders to the house labelled under _Marston_ , said that Bessie was forming words. 

He thinks.

"I ain't quite sure what she's sayin'-" the doctor says as Hosea hurries through the door and towards his wife's bedside. "But I think I recognize some of it from some Indians I met north."

Hosea kneels at his wife's bedside and her eyes turn hazily to him. He takes her hand softly but that feels like a crime because he can't tell if she recognizes him or not. Can't tell if she knows where or who she is, what year it is, if she knows she's a woman and not a girl who just lost her mother to the american military's genocide of the first nation's people. 

" 'Ne-nos." she whispers. 

_My husband_. Hosea translates in his head. 

He lets out a shaky breath as he smiles and runs his thumb over her knuckles, reaching out to cup her cheek with his free hand. 

"Smeykoluemek' kelee." he answers. 

_I missed you_ , he is saying. 

Bessie breathes out softly through her nose and opens her eyes, but it looks like it pains her. All at once he realizes its too bright, or the town is too loud, or he's too rotten and smells too much like alcohol. 

"Hewechek'." she tells him. 

"You're still in this bed," he brings her knuckles to his lips and presses a kiss against them, shutting his eyes as he feels the tears coming back. " 'Oole'w. Neke'l."

 _I'm healthy_. She tries. 

_Stay_. he answers. _With me_.

"Keycheksek'." Bessie whispers, squeezing his hand faintly. "Very tired."

"Chkee'worah," he says playfully, and she laughs softly in her bed. "Sleep for a while and gather your strength. There's a house on the hill you'll want to see. Our boys fixed it all up."

Her smile spreads as she stares up at him. "As long as _you_ stay."

Hosea feels his tears drip from his jaw as he nods. " _Chpeekah_."

 _Always_.

=

The doctor said that she needed to stay on bedrest for a while. No stress, no problems. Just sleep and relaxation in their son's new house. The trauma from hitting her head too often had resulted in a seizure that left her unable to move properly for a few days, but the doctor lets her leave when she can lift a cup to her mouth without her wrist shaking. 

They take that wagon all the way back up the hill. Their neighbors, fellow townsfolk, send congratulations their way as Hosea and Bessie lay in the back together, Isaac between them because he missed his grandmother and hated Hosea when he got drunk. Isaac braids her hair as they ascend the hill, jostling back and forth and listening to Arthur share conversation with the doctor. Hosea keeps his arm around them both, watching as Isaac's small fingers attempt to braid Eliza's dark hair. 

There's a wound on the back of her skull, an aftermath of a fall no one had mentioned after her last job with Dutch. It's a long wound, stitched closed between her hair and that new bald spot was covered by the rest of her long hair by the doctor's kind hands. And still, Van der Linde wasn't here to explain it. Neither was Bill, or Susan. Uncle had found his way back to them and was enjoying shouting orders at John, but Strauss had seemingly departed with Dutch to never be seen again.

" _I know there's power in their hair_ ," the doctor had said to Hosea while Bessie slept. They shared a loaf of bread and smeared butter across their slices. " _You know, in Indian hair_."

" _She comes from Klamath_." Hosea had answered him.

There was gratefulness in the fact the doctor hadn't cut her hair wildly to reach the wound. There was still the ability to cover it, to style the hair and allow it to continue growing. And Isaac uses dutiful hands as they slow in front of the house, finishing a messy braid while John exits the new barn with the shotgun in his hands. 

"Haven't shot your toes off then?" Arthur asks the teen as he disembarks from the wagon.

"Shut up, Arthur."

Town knew them as the Marston family. Matthews was too well known back east, Morgan was being hunted, but Marston was still simply a gangly teenager with a wild look in his eyes. And John had said he didn't relate it to his dad anymore, that it was a Scottish name that was his own, but that they could have it if they wanted it, as long as it meant they were going to be kept safe.

Hosea slides out from the back of the wagon and offers his hands to his wife. She shifts, then takes them carefully and it's a long few moments of her finding her way out of the back of the wagon before she's on her feet and leaning against him. 

" _Keycheksek'_ ," she tells him softly. 

_I'm tired_. 

"We'll get you to bed, but look!" Hosea turns slightly so she can see over his shoulder and at the house. "Look at what our boys have done!"

Bessie squints at the white rock, then her gaze lightens and she smiles. Her fingers curl into the collar of his shirt and she steps away from him, dragging him along as she goes to analyze the home. The failing rocks of the home have been managed and fixed by Arthur, and the cracked windows have been replaced using money from their cattle rustling work. There are thin wooden boxes beneath the windowsills acting as flower beds and chickens in the coup.

She leans into him and sighs softly, turning her face to press her nose into his neck. 

"I'm proud of them."

Hosea snakes his arm around her waist and presses a kiss to her ear. "Come on then, chkee'worah. Off to bed with you."

Isaac hops down from the wagon and follows them, racing past and getting the door, almost tripping Uncle in the process. Then they're in the house, herding the younger ones like cats until Isaac is sitting on the foot of their bed and waiting for Bessie to get comfortable. Hosea eases her down into the cushions and she hums in comfort, getting tucked in as Arthur brings her a pitcher of water and some glasses. Hosea smooths the blanket with his hand, but Bessie takes his arm and drags him in to lay beside her, using his chest as a pillow once he's down. Isaac curls up behind Bessie and refuses to move, so Arthur lays next to him and curls in on everyone else. John takes Hosea's other side, leaning against him but not quite cuddling as Uncle takes the discarded shotgun and waits alongside the doctor. 

Some medicine is left behind with slivers of advice before a warm smile is sent their way. Then, the doctor bids them farewell and exits the room behind Uncle, the wooden door being shut gently. 

There's silence. Quiet, uninterrupted silence spare for the distant rumbling of voices. Then Hosea can hear that wagon leaving the front of the house as Isaac yawns, and he's shutting his eyes and wrapping his free arm around John. The teen tenses, but then he lays his face flat against Hosea's shoulder and reaches past him to lay his hand over Bessie's, and soon they're all cuddling. One big pile in this comfy bed, holding one another in silent consolidation because Bessie lived and needs to rest. 

Soon, Hosea is the only one awake. Bessie has relaxed against him and Isaac is sleeping soundly next to her. Arthur is snoring gently and John is twitching in his sleep like he does, so the oldest man takes that gentle moment to admire them. From his wife's peaceful look to the rest of his family, checking on them, noticing how far the wound on Isaac's ear has healed and how it's a thick white line across the tip. It's a bit misshapen now, but it is nothing more than a bad memory. Arthur grumbles and presses his cheek against the top of his son's head, dragging him closer for a cuddle that has Isaac smiling in his sleep. 

And the ridiculousness of it all has Hosea smiling to himself. 

Outlaws. Killers. Robbers. Thieves. 

Cuddling in a bed belonging to them because they were a family and Arthur had listened. He'd taken Hosea's advice and started slipping out of the mindframe of a murderer, he switched to his soft self and took his son away from the hell of it all and gave him something. They were the Marston's now, a little family filled with their own lies, but they were to protect. For once, they were lying for safety instead of harming. 

" _Choch_." Bessie had called them once.

 _Relatives_. Hosea had translated that one loosely. 

He sighs softly and shuts his eyes, letting his chin rest atop his wife's head as Arthur's snoring and Bessie's breathing combines into a little symphony of comfort. Slowly, Hosea feels himself starting to rest, losing his grasp on the conscious world and instead falling into the relaxation of sleep, happily curled up with their family. 

=

"How's this vacation for you all?" Dutch asks. 

Isaac's fifth birthday is in a week's time so the gang leader had brought the rest of the group around to give him presents early. Hosea is feeding the chickens when Dutch's question reaches his ears and his eyebrows furrow at the audacity of the other man's tone. 

"We're fine." he answers as he dips his hand into the feed bag. 

His friend breathes out a puff of smoke. "Susan and I will have to leave soon... you comin' with, or staying behind to play house with Arthur?" Hosea pauses and sends a glare at the other man. He gets laughter in response, and an amused expression crosses Dutch's face as he leans against the wall of the house. "I'm just askin'!"

"You know Bessie's condition." he throws more feed for the chickens. "If I dragged her out to live rough now, it might kill her."

"I never said she had to come with." Hosea's head flicks to the side as he shoots daggers at Dutch. The younger man studies him before tapping ash from his cigarette. "You ain't built for this life, Hosea. Neither of us are. If Bessie might die to livin' rough, then leave her here. Seems like _Arthur_ has got enough room in his dollhouse for all of his pets."

Hosea drops the bag on the ground and steps into Dutch's space. The younger man, in all of his ego, stands to become taller than Hosea with his cigarette dangling between his lips. What Dutch doesn't count on is the speed of the older man's hand, or the way his knuckles connect with the side of Dutch's head. That flings him to the side, stumbling over his own feet and landing harshly on the side of the fence Arthur had recently built. Hosea steps over him, looms above him as rage burns in his chest. 

"-the hell was that for?!" Dutch asks with a cracking voice. His cigarette has landed in his lap and he's brushing it off quickly, leaving a hole burnt in the thigh of his pants. 

"You talk like I'll abandon them!" 

The younger man lifts his hands as some sorry way of surrendering before curling his fingers around the fence post. He pulls himself to stand, teetering away from Hosea as his black curls come loose from the pomade. Hosea keeps his fists at his sides, but he's still mad, still waiting for Dutch to say some other stupid shit so he can knock some sense into him. 

"It ain't abandonin'." the younger man rubs at his wide jaw. "I was just takin' note... and anyways, you said that you wouldn't be able to keep yourself from a life of crime! I'm just repeating what you told me."

"I never said I'd turn my back on them." Hosea stoops and grabs the feed bag off the ground, tying it closed and lugging it back to the shed. Dutch follows at a safe distance with his hand still on his jaw. 

"It isn't about that, either. Just leave them here for a while and come with me. You know I got to be on the move soon; law's still searching 'round here and I know of a pretty little place we can rob. Things aren't the same without you."

And Hosea wouldn't be the same man without his wife, but he keeps that thought to himself. 

"I can't, Dutch." he drops the bag beside the door of the shed and turns back to the other man. "I won't leave her while she's vulnerable. Even if she wasn't, I'd... well, I'd want to help Arthur settle in with Isaac. Spend some time with them before I go running off to rob some folk up north, or further east."

"You never seemed to be the kind of man to enjoy playing house so much."

"Stop calling it that." Hosea passes him and approaches the horses in their pen to check their troughs. "And things change, Dutch. You can't fight that."

The younger man hums thoughtfully, pushing his hair back into the pomade atop his head. "What are you gonna do? Bake cherry pies all day and do your family's hair? Ridiculous."

Hosea feels his eyebrows pull together but he doesn't verbally respond to the other man. He has nothing to prove; if anything, he wants Dutch to simply shut the hell up and leave him alone. 

"I don't think it's set in your head right." Hosea says and turns to Dutch. "I'm not leaving."

The muscles in Dutch's jaw tense and Matthews places his hands on his hips. They're positioned between the hitched horses and the front of the house, standing in that dusty bit of field where the sun liked to beat down and the shade from the building couldn't reach them. 

"Ain't leaving?" Dutch tests those words on his tongue. "But _just_ because of Bessie, right?"

"I haven't decided if I'll ever go. Sure, I might start dreaming of the old days, but what are the old days compared to the life I can watch my boys live?"

" _Yours?_ " Dutch's eyes widen. "You're takin' full credit now?"

Hosea shakes his head, lifting his hand. "I'm-"

"What'd you teach them, Hosea? How to con a man out of his money, how to shoot a gun? Who taught them to read and write?"

"As I remember, Bessie and Susan did most of _that_. You didn't have the goddamn patience to sit with the boys! You wanted to use their anger!"

"Do you remember when you suggested we hire Arthur to help us with a con, cause he was dirty and skinny and needed to eat? How you promised we'd give him food after he helped us get that money?"

Hosea had done that because he knew Arthur was eyeing their money and would have stabbed them had they fought back. 

"I do. And that was the only time I used the boy's anger against them."

" _Against?!_ " Dutch's voice is rising. "I've done more for them than their own pa's have. Now Arthur's bought this big bit of property with _some_ kind of money, from _somewhere_. He's being dainty and making tea for his family- it _is_ playin' house, Hosea. He's a killer, not a cowboy! Just like _you_."

Dutch is stepping into his space now, spitting at him, shouting at him from inches away. He continues on about ungratefulness, gesturing wildly to the house and the chickens. It continues for a series of long minutes until the others have gathered outside and lost their chances to stop him because he's angry, he's shouting, he's using Bill as back up and he's accusing them all of betraying him. 

So Hosea steps forward. Dutch twirls to him with a raised palm and Hosea smacks his wrist away before the bigger man can lay it over his shoulder. Stunned, Dutch falters lightly before reaching again, grasping Hosea by cloth of his shirt and dragging him closer. Hosea plants his hands against the bigger man's shoulders and shoves, but Dutch doesn't give in. They haven's scuffled like this in years; Hosea doesn't want to start a fight on Arthur's property, doesn't want to spill blood on the dirt and curse it. 

But Dutch is nothing if not dedicated, and he's moving like he's going to throw Hosea into the fence, so Hosea uses the momentum and drags his arms around the back of the other man's head, twirling so he uses Dutch's strength and shoves him away instead. His taller body lands heavily in the dirt and he rolls over his own head, landing flat on his stomach with a dizzy look in his eye. There's a trickle of blood coming from between Dutch's lips, dripping into the black stubble and falling only to absorb as a stain in his weathered white sleeve. Hosea feels his jaw tense, knows that he's heaving like a cougar about to pounce on it's prey. He's dirtied from the scuffle and there's a dust cloud daring to calm around them as Susan stomps towards him. 

He doesn't hear her shout, just feels her hand connect with the back of his head. Hosea steels himself on the ground and blocks the next hit, then catches her wrist before she can beat him over the head with her curled fist. Dutch is still nursing his cut lip like he got shot, so he wouldn't defend Grimshaw like Susan was defending him. Hosea catches her other wrist and pulls his thigh to block her from kneeing him in the groin, using that anger boiling him to push her off of him. 

Susan's fight ceases, but she's still seething with anger.

"What has gotten into you?" she asks. Hosea's grateful Isaac isn't here to witness this. "What happened to loyalty?"

Hosea unfurls his fists and eases himself back from his fighting stance, ignoring the way his hair drops over his eye.

"Ask him." Hosea growls and gestures to Dutch with his chin. "You heard how he was talkin' to everyone."

"As he should." Susan crouches next to the bigger man and touches him like he still loves her. "Overdue, in my opinion."

"You mean his beating? Sure..." the oldest man straightens his spine as Bill inches away from the house to approach his war horse. "With that big mouth, it should have come sooner."

"I didn't know you were so good at getting mad, Hosea." Dutch comments as he stands. Susan lingers beside him with that worry and gentle touching. "This isn't how I wanted us to depart."

"You wanted me to run away with you like I've done so many times before. I said I wasn't doing it. You've lost your respect for me, Dutch. You think this fucking gang is the only thing that exists anymore! Since you realized Isaac wasn't gonna be part of the outlaw life, you've been doing nothing but complaining about it."

"I would _die_ for that boy!" Dutch seethes. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

"I _thought_ I was talking to my friend! Seems I was talking to a child this whole time."

Dutch scoffs and shrugs Susan's hand from his shoulder. "You've lost yourself to this-this _dream_ , Hosea. Don't forget what you are, or where you come from." He turns to to look at Arthur, lip still bleeding. "Don't forget what I've sacrificed for you."

Arthur retracts and crosses his arms in unease. 

"Practice what you preach." Hosea says, loud enough that Dutch shoots a glare back at him and scoffs, suddenly stepping forward and going to reach for the teen.

"Come on, John. We're going."

John wrangles out of Dutch's grasp and avoids Susan's reaching hands, darting with that practiced ease he'd mastered years before. Small and skinny, greasy enough that any hand reaching for him would slip off, as slippery as an eel. John looks at them with wide eyes in a sense of fear and Hosea swallows the lump in his throat. 

Dutch stills like he's been shot and his fingers curl. 

"Are you listening to me?" he asks. "I said we're going."

John's hands hover in front of himself like he's preparing to catch something, his weight shifting to his back foot in case he needed to jump away again. He remains silent, refusing to answer because if he spoke, everyone there would know he'd say the wrong thing to Dutch. Everyone knew he didn't want to leave Arthur or Isaac, not only because Hosea was staying with Bessie, but because he _belonged_ with them. 

"John Marston!" Susan says. "Dutch said we're going."

"I ain't!" he shouts suddenly and harshly. "I-I ain't goin' until I know Bessie's gonna be okay."

Dutch's shoulders tense and lift some as his head raises. He sends a glare in Hosea's direction because his golden boy doesn't want to leave yet. His hand eases from his gunbelt and he offers it to John.

"All we've been through, and you're gonna abandon me now?" he says softly. The voice that would have been like sugar to Hosea's ears once a long time ago feels like he's being choked instead. For once, he can see how Bessie has seen Dutch; manipulative in place of charming.

"I said..." John swallows, then lifts his chin. "I said I'm stayin'."

Dutch shakes his head and reaches out because he's losing his patience, wraps a hand around John's wrist and tugs him to drag him to their horses. Hosea and Arthur move to stop him, but they don't have to. Bessie has stood and moved faster than she ever did before her seizure and she's lodged a blade against Dutch's throat. Dutch freezes, face tilted to the sky as Bessie puts herself between him and John, free hand coming to rest on the teen's arm. 

"You even _twist_ his arm and I'll slice your throat so fast you'll hardly know what happened." she threatens. 

For once, Dutch looks scared. 

He reluctantly removes his fingers from around John's wrist and lets out a dark chuckle, lifting his hands to the sky in surrender. John stumbles back and Arthur catches him before he can trip over his own feet, steeling his hands on his younger brother's shoulders while Bessie steers Dutch to the horses with that blade on his neck. Susan has distanced herself and is calculating how she can attack if the worse came of the situation, but Hosea knows. 

He knows as he watches Bessie steer the biggest man in their company to the horses that she won't do it here. Won't scar them all with that image, won't kill Dutch in front of Arthur and John so viciously. 

Bessie shoves him and Dutch goes tripping to his horse, landing against the saddle with a gruff noise as Bill eases his gun in his lap, helping the gang leader stand. Dutch shrugs the helpful hands off and sends another glare over the group before climbing into his saddle, Susan following on her own horse as Hosea gravitates towards his family. He stands at Arthur's shoulder with his hands on his hips and watches as the other three turn their horses away, Dutch watching them from under the brim of his hat. 

"Seems like Bessie's going to be perfectly fine." 

One last comment, then there's a dust cloud where the trio had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ne-nos = "My Husband"
> 
> Smeykoluemek' = "I miss/ I pine"
> 
> Kelee = Loosely meaning "You"
> 
> Keycheksek = "I am tired"
> 
> Chpeekah = "Always"
> 
> Chkee'worah = "Sleepyhead"
> 
> Choch = "Relative"
> 
> All translations were made using Yurok Dictionary affiliated with the Yurok Language Project Digital Archive hosted by the University of California in relation with the elders and members of the Yurok tribe.


	11. Resist the Devil

Isaac Morgan turns five years old. 

It's an early morning when Arthur senses movement behind him, hearing soft pattering against their clay floors and gentle breathing. Then a small hand touches his shoulder with caution and he turns his head to look at his son, finds his little boy smiling eagerly at him before Isaac pounces on him. 

Arthur laughs loudly and wraps his arms around the smaller body, holds him to his chest and cuddles him. He kisses the side of his son's cheek and whispers _happy birthday_ to him as Isaac rubs his eyes, evidently just having woken up despite the energetic wriggling of his body. Arthur had missed his son's first and third birthdays, and he hadn't quite forgiven himself for that. He'd thought of all the worse possible outcomes as he followed the trail of the men that killed Eliza, then he thought of the worse outcomes as he watched his son murmur in fever and ask for his mother. 

But now, despite the fact they laid on bedrolls on the floor of Arthur's future bedroom, they had a house. He didn't have the opportunity to give this house to Eliza, or to tell her how he truly felt about her, but he had something to give their son. It was still a barren ranch, but they were accumulating furniture and animals slowly. When Arthur offered his work in town, he bartered for rugs for the floors, then cushions for the bench in the kitchen. Pots and pans so they could cook, and eventually he had enough to buy a complete bed. That went to the Matthews' room without discussion. He wouldn't listen to any arguments, especially not with how Bessie was.

Arthur takes his yawning son downstairs and finds the couple cuddling on the settee. Uncle had gotten that, and Arthur hadn't asked any questions; it was comfortable, and mostly clean. The few tears that it did have could be mended or patched up and Arthur didn't mind the little lines of yellow yarn tying the holes in the cushions closed. 

Bessie opens her eyes and reaches out for Isaac, pulls him into she and Hosea's lap. The older couple wrap their arms around him and Hosea sleepily lays his head against the top of Isaac's, holding his little hand as Bessie analyzes the the cut across the boy's ear. Arthur is happy to tell people in town that that wound was mostly healed now, just a big pink line mottling the shell but no more than a bad memory from the life they lived before. 

Most of town doesn't ask questions about them. Some look on at Hosea like they recognize his name, but it's more in awe than it is in disgust, or horror. A bonafide conman and gunslinger, and now he was settling in to a California town with his family like he belonged. 

Arthur wanted to tell him that he did. 

Morgan finds John sleeping in the shed again and nudges him awake, threatening to throw him in the horse trough if he didn't get up and help him. Arthur intended to make Isaac a cake, had even spent his few dollars on some good ingredients for it and bartered the rest, working for a case load of sugar. Eventually, they could all work and pay for food and belongings, but right now they relied on Arthur. 

The money from the oil baron had covered the cost of the house, the land, and fixing the home. Then, they purchased lumber for the barn and built that while Bessie was stuck in bed, mostly to distract themselves. They had their own horses, and chickens, but they weren't sure how much they could sell their animals for if it came to it. 

Silver Dollar was Hosea's baby until the end of time, and everyone knew giving him away was out of the question. There were ideas to breed the thoroughbred with Bessie's horse, Gloria, but too many jokes and innuendos had Arthur and John turning away in red-faced embarrassment. 

John shuffles into the house begrudgingly, but offers kind words to Isaac when he enters. Isaac looks at him like he's his favorite character from a book and follows John into the kitchen with his hands folded shyly in front of himself. Everyone shuffles into that bench by the window as Arthur makes them eggs and cooks some meat in their pan, hearing Uncle before he sees that old man wandering into the house. He watches his mouth around Isaac, much to Arthur's thanks, but won't work to save his life. Something in him is still attracted to the outlaw life but Morgan has said that if he wants to live it, to go out and find Dutch. 

" _I won't have you threatening my son's safety_." he had warned. 

That warning was also directed at himself. 

Breakfast is shared with soft laughter and gentle words before Arthur ropes John into helping him bake a cake. Bessie pulls up a chair beside the oven and supervises as Hosea takes Isaac to get a bath, already telling some grand story as they move to the washroom. Uncle wanders back outside with his shotgun, keeping the property safe and feeding the animals so their little family could have some time to themselves. 

"Do you actually know what you're doing?" John asks, and Arthur shoves him with his hip, trying to get him out of the way. 

"Always time to learn," he says, then sprinkles a bit of flour on the teen's head without being caught. That white powder lingers on John's head as they mix, beat, and bake a cake. John had come across some beat up strawberries and they slice them and place them on top of the cake once it's cool enough, which rolls around to mid-afternoon. 

Isaac is doing a reading lesson with Bessie when the cake is finished, but Arthur hears shouting from outside and hurries for his gun. Uncle stands at the ready in front of a finely dressed man with a big black hat and a mustache, but Morgan reaches out with a smile and pats Uncle's shoulder. 

"You didn't have the chance to meet Josiah, did ya?" he asks. 

Trelawny bows deeply and then sends a disgusted stare over Uncle. Their introduction is brief, but then Uncle excuses himself to tend to the horses. 

"Arthur, my friend," Josiah then bows to him, Arthur chuckling softly. 

"Wasn't expectin' to see _you_ anytime soon." he says as he holsters his gun. He moves towards the shade of the house to hide from the hot August sun. "Am I that easy to find?"

Josiah shakes his head and removes his hat, seating himself on creaky wooden seat in the shade. "No. I was in San Francisco when I got word from Dutch that he was in need of some extra hands. I was surprised to find he sought after _me_ instead of me going to find the gang. It was quite _out of character_ , if I may say."

Arthur nods, offering the other man a cigarette. "You may."

"He told me you found a wonderful little bit of land out here and I thought I should mosey over," he lets Arthur light his cigarette and takes a puff. "It isn't the most _extravagant_ place, but it is quite better than any building you've called home before."

He hums, lighting his own cigarette and leaning against the wooden column of the house. "You shoulda seen it before John and I fixed it up. Hell, you might've called it an outhouse."

Josiah's lips curl as he drags another breath of smoke into his lungs. "I wouldn't insult your home so outright."

"Nah... you'd hide some rude comment behind a glorious curtain of good ol' bullshit."

"Isn't that my way?" Josiah asks, then hums out a laugh as Arthur rolls his eyes. "When Dutch told me you were going straight, I never imagined it could be true. I hope you don't mind that I came to see it for myself."

Arthur shrugs, then takes the seat beside him and leans against the arm of the chair. "I ain't bothered. But I ain't sure Dutch has had a lot to say 'bout this place or my decision."

The silence from Josiah is more telling than any words he could have said. A long beat of quiet and the smell of cigarette smoke before Trelawny flicks the ash on to the stone beside Arthur's boot. 

"All I know is that you've gone straight. And, apparently stolen John and Hosea in the process."

"Stolen?" Arthur grumbles to himself and sits up. "I didn't steal shit from him. John and Hosea both chose to stay behind 'cause Bessie weren't doin' well."

"Ah... I didn't know that. Is she alright?"

Arthur nods, looking over his shoulder at the pane of glass. "She's gettin' better. Doctor said not to put her up to any hard work, nothin' more than she can't handle. Overexertion could kill her, so the easy choice was to let her stay. Even if I _wasn't_ going to leave the outlaw life, this house would have still become Bessie's. I got it so my family could stay safe."

Josiah hums as if he understands. "It must be nice, having such love for one's relatives... So, you _are_ leaving the life?"

"Tryin'." he sucks in a breath of smoke, then exhales it through his nose. "I got too much to lose if I go back now. Ain't like Dutch or Susan or Bill would really be too happy to see me."

"I believe Dutch feels like he's been betrayed."

"Is that what he said?"

Trelawny shakes his head and lets his hand fall back, wrist cocked with the cigarette pinched between his fingers. His light colored eyes look towards the slope of the hill in direction of town and he sighs through his nose. 

"Dutch says a lot, Arthur. You know that better than anyone. He hasn't... _directly_ spoken about you. Not in the way you might think. I believe he's sort of- mourning what has been lost. You _were_ his right hand man, you know."

"Shit changes." Arthur feels gruff and mean, ungrateful of the life Dutch gave him. "I've tried- I've tried to give back to him for all he's done for me. But I almost lost my _son_ , Josiah. And I _did_ lose a woman I loved before I could tell her how I felt. The one thing I could do for her was fulfill her only wish; give Isaac a better life than I had. I promised her he wouldn't become an outlaw, and I'm gonna die tryin' if I gotta."

Josiah turns his head to him and looks at him with an incredible amount of honest emotion. Trust, consolidation, and care. That cigarette droops slightly as Josiah drops his eyes and Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wishing more than anything that the other man would put on one of his shows. 

"Is he here?" Trelawny asks softly. 

"Who?"

"Isaac. Your son."

"Yeah, 'course. It's his birthday today, actually. But I got a strange feelin' you already knew that."

Josiah just grins and puts his cigarette out in the broken plate they'd been using as an ashtray. "Perhaps I could show him a couple tricks and then be on my way. I wouldn't want to intrude."

Arthur shakes his head and takes one last drag of his own cigarette before putting it out. He stands, wipes his hands on his pants, and nervously gestures to the front door of the house. Josiah follows him to it and slips into the cool, glancing around at the walls and the floors, eyes glazing over rugs before Isaac peeks around the corner. 

"Hey, little bear," Arthur approaches his son and picks him up, turning to Josiah who is inching further within the house like he might destroy it by accident. "This is my friend,"

Trelawny lifts his eyes and it looks like he's overwhelmed at the sight of Isaac. His eyes widen and his mouth pulls like he's biting back his words, fingers curling around the brim of his hat before he places it on his head and gives a theatrical bow towards Isaac. Isaac takes a handful of Arthur's shirt and leans in to get a better look at the magician, smiling as Josiah takes a peek at him. 

"Hello, Isaac. My name is Josiah." he places his hand over his heart and Isaac nods at him. 

"Hey, mister." he answers, then wriggles out of Arthur's grasp and takes Josiah's gloved hand with haste. "Come meet my family!"

For the next few minutes Josiah pretends as if he's never met the others before. There's much conversation and catching up, then Arthur is balancing the cake on it's tray towards the small table and the others are crowding around for a slice. Isaac gets the first one, a piece far too big for his little frame but he eats most of it and goes on a sugar-fueled rampage, dragging John along with him. 

Arthur feels nice. 

He can hear Isaac giggling throughout the house, feet drumming in and out, becoming a blur as he runs around. When he sees John, Marston is smiling true and proper. He's getting his own energy out by chasing after Isaac, or jumping over bales of hay or picking Isaac up and twirling him. In the calmer part of the house, Uncle has joined them. He's eating a slice of cake while Josiah tells the adults a story from San Francisco, one with dancing girls and opera singers. This cracks Hosea up and Arthur finds his chest warming at the sound. Hosea sits with his arm around his wife's shoulders, holding her sweetly. And Bessie finds the time to tell her own stories, which gets everyone cracking up. She holds Hosea's arms and lets him curl into her, lets him become the sweet man Arthur knows he's been. He rests his face on her shoulder and shuts his eyes when Arthur's speaking, and somehow he senses that his voice brings them both great peace. 

Bessie sits in a way that presents her strength. It's coming back to her, her chin is held high and her eyes a little stronger. But Arthur can tell by sundown that she's getting tired. This socialization has taken it out of her, but she's holding on as much as she can. 

Arthur nudges Josiah as his story comes to a close and there's a quiet bit of conversation between them before Josiah is nodding. Arthur needs to get the old couple into bed, so he shuffles out of the bench and offers his hand. 

"Come on," he says. "You've pushed yourselves long enough. Gotta get the old people to sleep."

Hosea shifts out from the bench first and elbows Arthur lightly, but he takes his hand and helps Bessie out after himself. Arthur watches with laughter as Hosea picks his wife up, hearing her make gentle complaints before carrying her down the hallway. Isaac and John skid to a halt and bump into one another, staring up at the couple ahead of them. 

"Where're you goin'?" John asks as Arthur steps into the hallway. 

"To bed." Hosea eases Bessie back on to her feet and she reaches for Isaac. Arthur watches while she kneels in front of him, eye level with the little boy with an offering in her hands. 

"Did your mom make a lot of things with beads?" She asks Isaac. The little boy nods, resting his hands over her palms gently. "Well, this isn't your mom's work, but it _is_ a gift. I remember my mother making one similar when I was a child, when I was the same age as you are now. The pattern tells a story,"

It's a bracelet made of beds. It's black and blue with shells she and Isaac collected off of the shore of the beach. She whispers something to him as she ties it around his wrist, then eases back on her heels and cups his face affectionately. Isaac stares down at it with big eyes and suddenly rushes into her arms, so overcome with affection that he starts crying into her neck. Arthur's eyebrows furrow and he lingers beside Hosea, fists clenching because he wants to take care of his son and ease his sadness. 

Hosea senses him and takes Arthur's wrist gently, rubbing his thumb against the bone and meeting his eyes. 

"He's okay," he whispers as Isaac cries. "Just a little overwhelmed."

Arthur nods slightly. 

Isaac eases from Bessie's arms and stares at the bracelet she gave him, touching the shells softly with little fingers. 

" 'Ne-k'ep'ew, peerwerkseechek." she says gently, kissing Isaac's chubby cheek. 

"Peerwerkseechek, kuech." he answers softly. 

Bessie smiles and kisses his other cheek, then stands to join her husband. Hosea reaches out to hug Isaac and the little boy grabs on to his leg, fingers curling into the cloth as the oldest man rubs his back. 

"Have you had a happy birthday?" he asks. Isaac nods with his face still hidden. "Good. Tomorrow, I'll take you fishin'. You can use your new pole."

"My-?" Isaac lifts his head and Arthur passes him the fishing pole Hosea had been making in secret. His face brightens and he hastily wipes the snot from his nose with the back of his hand to grasp it. "How do you say thanks in-in..."

"Wokhlew." Bessie answers. 

"Wokhlew, peechowos." 

Arthur smiles gently. He wondered if Eliza could see them now, Isaac with braids and beads, speaking his adopted grandmother's indigenous language. He wonders if this is what she wished for him, if he had accomplished some of her dreams yet. In a way, he knows these are also _his_ dreams, because he wished merely for his son and his family to have a good life. 

Robberies and gunfighting be damned; they could be poor but rich of heart. That's all that mattered to him now. 

The couple retire to bed with kisses from Isaac and hugs from Arthur. Then, it's wrangling Isaac to calm down, giving him a few more gifts. A pack of cards John had gotten from... somewhere, Uncle's "companionship" as he called it, and a little wooden toy Arthur had carved and painted. 

It wasn't very good. A wonky mountain lion with longer back legs than front legs. It's tail risked snapping and it's head was too wide, it's jaw too little. The teeth looked like it ate grass instead of meat, and he'd painted the eyes wrong. All those little cuts in his hands and fingers, slivers of wood covering his lap and splinters in his hands just for Isaac to hate it. 

But he doesn't. 

He curls up into Arthur's side that evening with the little lion in his hands, holding it's grey and, for some reason, purple body like it meant the world to him. The playing cards rest on the mantle and the fishing rod rests on the wall beside that, beaded bracelet hanging from Isaac's wrist as he plays with his toy. The mountain lion hunts its way over Arthur's belly and the swell of muscle in his chest, then pounces on his cheek and attacks. Arthur feigns fear and falls to the side, dragging Isaac with him and holding him close. 

The quiet house fills with his son's laughter and Arthur laughs with him, chest light and free. 

Truth be told, he doesn't remember a lot of times that he felt like this. He might have been relaxed enough to get drunk with Dutch, or Hosea, or whatever person got wrapped up in their mess, but he was always tense and ready to go for his gun. When he could relax, it was when someone was holding a gun and sitting out on watch, or there were enough people in camp that he could shift the responsibility of protection to them. Calm came when he was alone, hunting or searching. Tracking the way Hosea taught him, or drawing the way Bessie showed him. Peace came in darkness and silence, but rarely did it end well. There was usually a shootout, or a fight, or an argument, or Dutch bellowing for them to get packed up because someone caused a mess and the law was after them. 

Here, in this house with Josiah leisurely smoking outside the window, Arthur felt serene. 

Isaac falls asleep on the settee and he already knows Hosea and Bessie have nodded off. He kisses his son's cheek and pulls the blanket over his lap despite the temperature, doing so just in case. Then he follows the corridor to the older couple's room and puts his ear to it, hears them whispering and giggling together before he exits and steps out on to the patio. 

Josiah continues smoking. 

John is trying to gamble with Uncle but he's forgotten just how sly the old man can be. Arthur sees the teen's shoulders getting tense and grunts out a laugh, turning his eyes to the stars. 

Shimmering and clear. There's no clouds, or fogs, or pollution in the way. No city lights blocking the view or shrouds of trees. There's less of a threat of being attacked here, like being this far west keeps them from the bandits and the killers and the law. 

Josiah offers him a cigarette. 

Arthur declines. 

"You gonna get some rest or smoke out here all night?" Arthur asks. 

The other man hums in amusement and wets his lips. "I haven't decided yet. It's calm enough here I think I could sleep under the stars without needing a feather pillow. Unless you have one, of course."

Morgan shakes his head. "Nah. Unless you'd like to pluck our chickens."

That has Josiah coughing in laughter and flicking the cigarette away. He eases the breath from his lungs and goes to lean against the wooden banister of the patio, eyes on the far stretch of hills ahead of them. 

"I didn't know Bessie was native." he says whimsically. "Do you know where she's from?"

"Uh... Klamath, I think. That's what she and Hosea have said. I ain't sure 'bout her village or nothin'. Don't think she is, neither."

Josiah waves it off as Arthur comes to rest on the banister beside him. "What about Isaac? Does he know his tribe?"

"No. His ma didn't know their tribe, either. I'm just making this up as I go and hoping its enough for him. It's doing Bessie good to share the language with him- Hosea's loving watching them talk to each other like they do." 

His friend chuckles. "I'm glad to see you all in a good place, Arthur. I mean that. Leaving the life to give your son something good is... you're doing the right thing. There are many boys and girls out there that are wishing for the life you are giving Isaac, and some who are adults that are still wishing for it."

"Like us?"

Josiah nods. "Yes. Perhaps this will also be a chance for John to live a good life. Hosea might be able to teach him how to control his anger in better ways than _killing_ and _murdering_. But who am I to know? I'm but a conman."

"Hosea could say the same about himself, but we all know he's a good man."

"He could. He survives by studying people and I know he understands us better than we do ourselves. It baffles me sometimes, you know?" Josiah turns his back to the fields and faces the house. "How Hosea spent so long with Dutch just to walk away."

Arthur straightens his back. "What'chu mean by that?"

"Nothing!" his friend slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks and stares at the leg of the chair. "Nothing at all... Just some banter. Hosea spends years with Dutch for his wife's illness to turn him away? They used to make quite a lot of money in their work, more than enough to get you proper furniture and buy medicine to last Bessie a lifetime."

"If you got somethin' to say, then say it. Else I'm obliged to retract my kindness and kick you off my property."

Josiah's eyes shoot upwards. "Hosea Matthews is one of the few things that keeps Dutch van der Linde in line. He might be as blind as a bat to Dutch's way of working, and as slippery as an oil slick, but he isn't stupid. He knows that he could leave for a few weeks and come back with good money for you all- a balancing act between the gang and his family. That's what I meant, Arthur. Nothing more, nothing less."

Arthur leans against the banister and starts wishing he'd taken the cigarette. "You want him runnin' off?"

"We both know he'd be daydreaming of either life if he was living the other one." Josiah tells him. "Staring out the windows of the house, thinking of standing atop a moving train with a rifle. Then, living the life, and wishing he was back home and cuddling his ill and beloved Bessie. He might not show it as much as you, or Dutch, but Hosea is an impatient man."

"You sound like Dutch."

Josiah meets his eyes finally. "What I've told you is what Dutch was explaining to me. _Endlessly_ , I might add. Hosea is the only thing he's talking about, when he isn't complaining about you and John taking up grunt work for a dead woman's wish."

"He say _that_ to you too?" 

"Yes. Dutch doesn't believe you're serious. He thinks you'll come back to him soon with regrets of leaving, thinks that you'll fork the house to Bessie and Isaac and Uncle and come back with John and Hosea."

"Then he's stupider than I thought." Arthur looks away from Josiah and towards the stars. "I'm serious about this, you know? Dutch... he-"

"I know, Arthur. I'm merely warning you for what might come. Dutch has a voice of honey and the charm of a devil- he talked Hosea Matthews into running with him and kept him for more than a decade. Once Bessie is healthy enough, Hosea might start toying with the idea of going again. Only for a time, though."

Arthur scrubs his hand down his face and presses his shoulder into the wooden pillar. 

"It wouldn't be worth it." he answers. "All this would be lost."

A hand comes to his back and he finds Josiah touching his shoulder blade carefully. "Stand your ground, then. You don't have the view I've had, the _outside perspective_ of the gang. When Dutch comes back, and he _will_ come back, you speak your truth. Don't let the devil in, I've always said."

Arthur watches as Josiah eases away. 

"Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ne-k'ep'ew = "My Grandchild"
> 
> Peerwerkseechek = "I love you"
> 
> Kuech = "Grandmother"
> 
> Wokhlew = "Thank you/ I give thanks/ I am grateful"
> 
> Peechowos = "Grandfather"
> 
> All translations were made using Yurok Dictionary affiliated with the Yurok Language Project Digital Archive hosted by the University of California in relation with the elders and members of the Yurok tribe.


End file.
